Star-Crossed Lovers
by darlingsybil
Summary: AU. Lady Sybil Crawley had always longed for adventure. Little did she expect that she would find it aboard the Titanic in the form of an Irishman.
1. April 10, 1912: I

_"For whatever we lose (like a you or me),  
it's always we ourselves we find in the sea."  
ee cummings_

The car approaches the docks and already, Lady Sybil Crawley can feel her heart racing as she looks out the window and can see the Titanic waiting alongside the land. It's magnificent, a feat of metal and labour, and as the driver presses at the horn, she can barely hear anything over the loud crowd that has gathered around the ship.

They find themselves stuck, waiting for a group of people to move, so Sybil sticks her head out of the window, breathing in the salty fresh air. The weather is perfect with the sun shining fiercely in and no sight of any threatening clouds.

"Sybil darling, what are you doing?" Mary, her older sister, asks, fanning herself as they begin to move again.

"I'm just looking. It's splendid, Mary."

"Darling, if Grandmamma were to see you, she'd have a heart attack."

"Honestly," Matthew, Mary's husband, says, "I wouldn't be surprised if Cousin Violet were doing the same, Mary." He takes her hands in his and she rolls her eyes, even though Sybil can tell that her sister is amused.

Mary finally looks out the window and doesn't show any expression, merely shrugging her shoulders. "Won't it be a bit cramped?"

Sybil laughs, but stops quickly as Mary raises an eyebrow. Matthew smirks from his seat.

When the driver makes it through the crowd and stops near an entrance, Sybil is first to leave the car and as her feet touch the wooden boardwalk, she is enthralled. The ship looks never-ending along the dock, and as it towers over everyone she is certain that if she were on it, she could touch the heavens.

The rest of her family arrive in their cars, her sister, Edith, and their parents in one, and her grandmamma and Cousin Isobel in other, and soon they are all together, gazing at the wondrous sight.

"It's spectacular, isn't it?" Robert Crawley exclaims proudly. "A fine English ship to take us to New York."

"I thought it was made in Ireland," Sybil says and her father looks at her like she has grown another head. "I read about it," Sybil clarifies, and her mother chortles.

"Oh, Sybil, I forgot you haven't been on a ship before," Cora says, patting her daughter's shoulder. "You'll love it."

"Yes, you will, darling Sybil," Mary says from behind them, "The insides are absolutely grand although nothing compares to Downton."

"I detest ships. If there were another way to travel, then I would," Edith, Sybil's other sister, remarks. "I remember when we travelled to France, I was sick the entire voyage."

Sybil frowns. "At least, you got to travel. I was sick with the measles, and the time before that, I had bronchitis. It wasn't fair."

"Well, now you're here, my darling," Cora says and Sybil shows a satisfied smile. "Come along, we must board the ship before we are left behind." The family walks off to find an official who will direct them to their quarters but Sybil stays behind, her eyes on the ship. She has read that it is called the 'Ship of Dreams' and she truly believes that is.

She remembers when her father had surprised them one night, telling them that they were going to New York to visit their other Grandmamma on the unsinkable ship. They had all been ecstatic, but none more than herself. For seventeen years of her life, she had been cooped inside the house, taught impractical things by their governess, but as she stands before the Titanic, she can feel it in her bones that her life is going to change. _Things will be different in America_, she thinks to herself. Even though they will only be there for one month to celebrate her Grandmamma's birthday, her mother's stories have filled her with many dreams about life in New York.

"Yes," she says to herself, "I am ready for the world."

* * *

Tom Branson looks at his watch and shakes his head. The Titanic is set to sail in half an hour and still his brother, Kieran is still nowhere in sight. Truth be told, he isn't surprised. His brother always had the habit of arriving late to events, but if he would stop them from travelling back home to Ireland, then Tom knows he would have no problem strangling him.

He whacks the tickets against his palm and looks out over the crowd, trying to spot his brother's familiar curls. It's Kieran's idea to travel on the Titanic and as reluctant as Tom had been, he had agreed only because it meant that he they disembark in Ireland before the ship travelled to New York. They had bought the tickets with the last of their money and celebrated over the last few nights at the pub, but as Tom anxiously watches the hands on his watch move, he begins to think that wasn't such a good idea. Ever since they were children, even though their mother had consistently called Tom a mischief-maker, it was always his brother who was considered the handful.

As Tom finally gives in, deciding that he should find Kieran, he lets out a relieved sigh, as the devil himself is running towards him, his jacket over his shoulders and his face red.

"Christ, Kieran. I thought you were lying in a ditch," Tom scowls as his brother stops in front of him, huffing and puffing.

"Don't swear, Tommy. Ma would whip you," Kieran pants, taking in a deep breath. "Bloody Christ, you are a sight for sore eyes. Anyone would think that you weren't happy to go home."

"I am happy. What happened to you? You said to meet at eleven."

"I met a bird last night after you left," Kieran says, winking, "A very bold bird."

Tom shakes his head, but isn't surprised. "Come on, we better board before the ship leaves." Tom begins to walk off, heading to the third-class entry through the mass that has come to observe the Titanic. As he looks behind to make sure his brother is following him, he suddenly finds himself bumping into someone and both of them fall to the floor.

"Watch it," Tom snaps as his bag flies out of his hand and onto the ground. He grabs it quickly and when he turns to berate the rude person, he finds his breathing has stopped and he's sure his heart has as well.

"I'm terribly sorry. That was my fault," the young woman says as she gets to her feet and gives her hand to him as he is still on the floor, his mouth open and his eyes fixed on her like she is a star. She stares at him confused, as he makes no attempt to stand up and as she recoils her hand slowly, he realizes that he is _still _on the floor.

"No," Tom says finally, standing on his feet and the young woman looks at him curiously. "It was mine."

The young woman smiles and it's a glorious smile. One that makes him think that Titanic was definitely worth the money. His brother comes running towards them and he too stops when he sees the young woman with Tom.

"My, my, good day, my lady," Kieran says, tipping his head at the young woman. Already, Tom can tell that what is running through his brother's head and he does not like it one bit.

"I seemed to have knocked over your friend," the woman says to Kieran and Tom can feel the jealousy running through his body as she addresses his brother.

"Oh, my lady. It is no trouble at all. My brother can barely run, let alone walk," Kieran jokes and Tom wants to his kill brother, right there on the spot.

The young woman nods, but doesn't laugh and Tom is grateful for that. "I'm afraid, I must find my family. They're probably wondering where I've gotten to," she says. "Please accept my apology again, Mr-"

"Branson," Tom says clearly, so that he hopes somehow she will always remember his name, " Tom Branson."

"Branson," she says and he has never heard his simple last name sound so melodic, "I am sorry for the third time, Mr Branson. Good day to you both." She tilts her head politely and turns around, proceeding to find her family, when Tom's confidence finally decides to make an appearance and he yells out abruptly, "I didn't catch your name."

She stops and looks back at him, a surprised look on her face, but nonetheless, she says keenly, "Lady Sybil Crawley." A soft laugh escapes her lips and then she continues on, as she did before.

"Well, well, Tommy," Kieran says jovially, slapping his brother on the back. "A lady."

_Lady Sybil Crawley_, he replays her voice in his head as he watches her join a group of well-dressed people standing at the first-class entrance. Part of him wishes that the can continue their trip all the way to New York just so that he may get the chance to see her again, but he knows that he doesn't belong in fancy America when he can hear the call of Ireland in the wind every night since he has lived in England.

"Lady Sybil Crawley," he says softly under his breath, and he smirks when he realizes he'll be on the Titanic for a whole day until it arrives in Cork Harbour the following morning. _After all_, he thinks to himself, _a lot could happen in a day_.

* * *

AN: Sybil's age is obviously a bit older, so at the moment she is 17, whilst Tom is 22. Yes, Mary is married to Matthew. Let's just pretend that Patrick and his father died of other causes and despite all the drama with the entail, Mary and Matthew eventually did wed. Any more questions, feel free to message me. I don't bite. Promise. :)


	2. April 10, 1912: II

"_We are as near to heaven by sea as by land."  
Sir Gilbert Humphrey_

The ship takes off precisely at midday, but then is delayed minutes later when there is word it has nearly collided into several smaller ships. Not that any passengers onboard notice.

Instead, everyone is far too thrilled to be on the Titanic. The first-class passengers are shown to their suites by the officials and wished a happy voyage. The second-class passengers on the middle decks find their rooms without much trouble, but on the lower decks, there is absolute pandemonium.

There are families blocking the narrow hallways as parents gather their children, men already drunk from celebratory drinks gathered outside their rooms and maids trying to control them.

"Look Tom, here's our one," Kieran says as they finally reach their cabin, but when he pushes the door open, there are already three man inside their room fit for only four. Two of them, men with dark hair and tanned skin speak to each other in a language that Tom doesn't understand and the last man, an older man with thinning white hair and a tattered jacket stands up from his bed, just as startled to see them.

"Are one of you sharing with us?" the old man says in a deep, but kind American voice.

"Actually," Kieran says, and the foreigners look at them curiously, "this room's meant to have us two in it."

The old man forms an 'o' with his mouth and limps towards them with the help of a cane. "I see. Well, this is a bit of a worry," he says nervously and he takes his ticket out of his pocket to inspect it. "My ticket says this room, but I can go find one of the stewards and see to another one. There's no point in you two men being separated when I'm only one." The old man smiles and begins to walk back to his bed, but Tom stops him, grabbing his arm before he can walk any further.

"No, sir, I won't have you do that," Tom says and the man looks at him confused. "We're only here for the night and then we depart tomorrow in Ireland so you should stay. You've already got your things out."

Kieran and the man look at him bewildered.

"Are you sure, Tommy?" Kieran questions and the old man opens his mouth to say something, but all that comes out is an incoherent mess.

Tom nods his head and looks at the old man sincerely. "I don't mind. I'm used to sleeping under the stars. 'Specially back home in Ireland. It'll be no trouble for me."

"Thank you. Not many people show a person of my age kindness," the old man answers gratefully, patting Tom on the hand. He looks on the verge of tears, but Tom is proud to be helpful. After all, that's how society should be – people looking out for each other. The old man walks back to his bed and rummages through his bag until he takes out an item and motions for Tom to come to him.

"This is my lucky charm," he says and when Tom stands next to him, he presses the small object into Tom's hands, covering it as he speaks softly, "I've had it with me for over fifty years and I've never had trouble in my travels. I want you to have it. It needs a young man's adventure."

The old man lets go of Tom's hands and allows for the object to be seen. It is a gold medal, no bigger than the size of a coin and immediately Tom recognises the figure on it.

"Saint Christopher," Tom says, with a smile.

"You're a Catholic?" the old man replies.

Tom nods. "Born and raised. My ma always told us about him. She said he was the saint for travellers. Thank you sir, but I'm an Irishman, I'm as lucky as they come."

"No, take it, please," the old man urges but Tom is still hesitant. "This is my last trip. I'm heading home to New York and I won't need it after. So, take it and may God be with you wherever you go."

The old man is persistent and Tom finally places the medal in his pocket, touched by the man's sincerity.

"Thank you, sir," Tom replies and the old man beams, proud to have shown his gratitude.

"Oh, none of this 'sir'. Friends call me Albert."

"Well, Albert, you have a friend in me," Tom says sincerely and he sticks out his hand for Albert to shake. "Tom Branson and please make sure that my brother over there gets into no trouble tonight."

Kieran laughs and shakes his head, saying loudly, "That'll be the day."

Albert nods and as Tom begins to walk out of the cabin, he turns to Kieran and orders, "You better be ready to leave the ship at eleven tomorrow. I'm leaving without you if I have too."

"Oh Tommy," Kieran says, patting his brother on the back, "you get too serious when you talk about Ireland. Don't worry, have I ever failed you?"

Tom frowns. "Yes."

"Well, not to worry, I've got Bertie here, don't I?" Kieran tilts his head towards Albert and Albert bobbles his head. "Besides, you don't have to leave now. Stay here for the while. Dinner won't be 'till later."

"I'd rather get some air, if you don't mind, but I'll see you later in the dinning room." Tom gives his brother's arm a squeeze and Kieran watches as his brother heads off down the hallway, squeezing past a large man with a hoard of children before he turns the corner and disappears.

"Well, Bertie," Kieran says, throwing his bag onto the top bunk atop of Albert's bed, "Fancy a drink?" Kieran takes a silver flask from his pocket and hands it to Albert, but he shakes his head. "All the more for me, then," Kieran says happily, taking a long sip.

The foreigners still have no idea what just happened.

* * *

"How do I look, Anna?" Sybil says excitedly, as she twirls around in her new frock. She had had it made especially for the trip and as she looks at herself proudly in the mirror, she thinks she has never been so thrilled to be wearing new clothes.

"You look lovely, my lady," Anna replies wholeheartedly. She thinks it brave for Sybil to be wearing such a daring costume, but nonetheless, she admires her. "Should I tell your family that you'll be out soon?"

"Yes, please," Sybil says and Anna leaves the room, closing the door quickly behind her. Even though she knows she's late, Sybil can't help but gaze at herself in the mirror one last time. She wants to make an impression on not her family, but everyone on the ship. She wants to show the world not Lady Sybil Crawley, but rather Sybil – just Sybil. She doesn't want people treating her because of her title, but rather for what she believes in.

When she is finally ready, she twists the doorknob and flings the door open, stepping out into their suite's drawing room where her family are waiting. "I'm ready," she exclaims proudly, placing her hands on her hips as she holds her head up.

Her family, however, are not, as their gaze is immediately on her dress, which rather than flow out, wraps around each leg like Arabian harem pants.

Her sisters both have their eyes wide and the Dowager Countess grips onto her cane a touch tighter. Matthew and Isobel have grins that spread from ear to ear and Cora, brings her hands to her cheeks, thrilled to see her daughter happy in her new dress. Robert, on the other hand, is less than impressed.

"What do you think you are wearing?" Robert blurts out in a harsh voice and the smile from Sybil's face drops.

"My new dress. I bought it in Ripon before we left."

Robert shakes his head continuously. "You cannot wear that dress to dinner. I will not have my daughter look like a man in front of the Titanic's respectable guests. The Greys are onboard and can you imagine what they'd say about you when they return to England? Change into something more appropriate."

"Oh, Robert," Cora interrupts, but rather than be despondent, Sybil folds her arms across her chest and replies haughtily, "Why can't I? It's about time women have the right to choose to wear whatever they want. In fact, if I didn't have to, I'd take off my corset immediately."

The room is filled with gasps, none louder than that from the Dowager Countess whose face has turned a horrifying shade of white. Robert's, however, has become redder than the blood that's about to be shed.

"I will not have such vulgarity spoken, Sybil! Either you change now or we will be forced to have dinner without you," Robert ordered, but Sybil stood firm.

"I won't be shameful of my clothing. It's an expression of who I am and what I believe and if you cannot understand that, then I suppose you should come up with an excuse as to why I am absent from dinner," Sybil retorts and she immediately heads back inside her room, shutting the door forcefully. She sits on her bed and can hear her family chatter through the thin walls. She waits and listens as their shoes move across the floor and begin to disappear out of the room, but one person stays behind and knocks on her bedroom door.

"Sybil darling," says her mother's voice and even though Sybil provides no reply, Cora opens the door and pokes her head in. "Sybil, oh, please do come to dinner. It won't be the same without you."

"I'm suddenly not very hungry," Sybil replies casually, running the back of her hand on her dress's soft fabric.

Cora tips her head, realising that her daughter needs space. "If you are hungry, please come to dinner regardless of what you are wearing. And my darling, I think you look splendid," Cora expresses with a beaming grin and Sybil is touched, returning the smile.

When her mother leaves, Sybil sits in her room for what seems to be two hours, but when she looks at her clock, it has only been thirty minutes. She contemplates changing and heading to dinner, but she decides that if she ever wants to be taken seriously, then she must stick by her morals no matter how much her stomach grumbles.

An hour passes, and Sybil finally decides to leave their suite, still wearing her harem dress. She walks through the decorated hallways of the Promenade Deck until she reaches the outside deck. As soon she steps out into the open, she can feel the chilly air blowing, and she brings her arms around her shoulders wishing she had brought a shawl. The decks are barely filled with passengers and she supposes that everyone is dinner as they should be.

She strolls along the dock, her heels tapping against the wooden floor until she emerges onto the ship's forecastle. The first thing she notices are the stars. They light up the sky like jewels on dark velvet and she is mesmerised by how close they seem to appear. She leans against the rail and folds her hands among the cold bars. Never has she seen the sky as radiant as it is, and all the hunger and anger she had felt disappears, as all she can think about is how grand the world seems to be.

In fact, distracted by the wonder around her, she doesn't notice a figure watching her from a distance. She doesn't notice when he stands up from his seat and begins to walk towards her, treading slowly as not to frighten her.

He stands behind her, uncertain what to say, until he clears his throat and says with his Irish drawl, "It's a lovely night to look at the stars, isn't it, Lady Sybil?"


	3. April 10, 1912: III

_"The sea, once it casts its spell, holds one in its net of wonder forever."_  
_Jacques Yves Cousteau_

Sybil recognises the voice immediately.

Even though she had only talked to the man for a few minutes, she already knows who is standing behind her as she turns around.

"Why, Mr Branson," she says with a smile threatening to erupt, "I don't suppose you're here to trip me again."

Tom chortles, but shakes his head, holding his hands behind his back. "Not unless you want me too," he replies and Sybil doesn't know whether she finds it funny or outrageous, but as her smile grows, she knows it's the former.

"You're very forward, Mr Branson," Sybil says and Tom merely shrugs his shoulders, moving next to her along the rails.

"Is that a problem, milady?"

She looks up at him, her blue eyes meeting his and she shakes her head. "No, I suppose not."

The corners of Tom's mouth twitch and he turns his head towards the sea, dangling his hands over the rail.

"It's beautiful, ain't it?"

She nods, and mimics his actions, as they look out at the sea, dark and silent. If it weren't for the stars, she wouldn't know where the sea ended and the night sky began.

"I'd thought that a Lady would be at dinner," Tom says, breaking the silence between them.

"I wasn't hungry," Sybil answers, although unconvincingly. She sighs and then fiddles with her fingers, before deciding, against whatever reason is telling her, to talk to the man that she had only just met. "My father," she pauses, and Tom looks at her, curious to hear her tale, "he didn't like my clothing. And I know that probably seems petty when you consider all that is going on in the world right now, but I've never heard him sound so disappointed me. Truth be told though, I'm not quite surprised by his reaction. I suppose I should have expected it."

Tom, however, looks confused. He isn't quite sure what she is talking about and she begins to realize that when she glances down at the bottom of her dress. It looks like quite normal to what she supposes is a male eye, so she sticks one leg out and watches as his eyes trails down her legs.

At first, he makes no reaction, just staring at her dangling foot, until he begins to laugh.

Sybil immediately puts her feet back together and holds her head up, despite how embarrassed she is. "I'm pleased to have entertained you, Mr Branson, but I think that'll be all for tonight. Good night," she says bitterly. She turns away, and starts to march off, but stops when she feels a hand grasp her arm. Her eyes linger on the fingers and as she slowly spins around to face the man, she finds herself looking straight into Tom's eyes, captivated.

He returns her gaze and for a moment, he feels as though they are the only two passengers on board, surrounded by the seas and the stars and he doesn't want the moment to end. Until it does when the sound of laughter erupts from passengers moving onto the dock and he suddenly realizes that his hand is still around her arm. He lets go immediately and puts his hand behind his back, not wanting her to feel threatened.

"I wasn't laughing to embarrass you," Tom says sincerely.

Sybil raises an unbelieving eyebrow.

Tom smirks. "No, in fact I think it's marvelous."

"You do?" Sybil inquests, and Tom nods his head continuously, smiling proudly.

"I think any woman daring to wear an outfit like yours is a courageous woman."

"You don't think that it's entirely inappropriate?"

"Never," Tom says out loud. "I'm all for women's rights. I think it unfair that women should have be subjugated."

Sybil beams and she feels her cheeks grow red as Tom begins to talk about socialism and his ideas and even as snooping passengers walk by, she doesn't care and listens intently to him.

They soon find themselves walking along the decks and sitting on one of the benches on the forecastle, neither of them paying attention to the time.

"And so my last job in England was driving around an old lady," Tom explains as Sybil nods her head. "But she wouldn't let me drive her car over 20 miles an hour and so the job was, well, boring, so to speak."

Sybil muses to herself. "It seems rather unlikely," she responds, "a revolutionary chauffeur."

Tom gives a soft laugh. "Maybe. But I'm a socialist, not a revolutionist. And I'm not a chauffeur anymore. That's why I'm going back to Ireland to be a journalist. It's much easier over there to be one. They're more trusting than the English."

Even though she quietly scoffs at his last words, she finds herself intrigued by him, a man unlike any she has met with so much passion for reform. She finds herself staring at him, and when he catches her gaze, she looks away quickly, feeling herself blush once more.

"And what of you, Lady Sybil? What do you plan to be?" Tom questions, draping his arm over the back of the bench so that his fingers are just inches away from touching her shoulder.

Sybil is silent, thinking to herself. She shrugs her shoulders and replies composed, "No one's ever asked me that. I suppose everyone just assumed I would marry well as any English lady should."

"Times are changing, milady. I'm sure it's not long before women can do anything that they want."

"I'd like to think that too," Sybil pauses, "I'd be a nurse."

Tom cocks a smile. "Really? That's an awful demanding profession."

Just as Sybil is about to reply, a voice calls out Sybil's name and the pair turn their heads to find Mary approaching them, a less than amused expression on her face.

"Sybil," Mary says, "I came to see how you were but I see that you're doing quite well." She raises an eyebrow and immediately Tom and Sybil stand up. "No please, I wouldn't want to intrude."

Already, Sybil can detect the menacing tone in her older sister's voice. "I thought I'd come out for a walk," Sybil explains, but Mary doesn't look convinced, "and I so happened to make a new friend."

"I'm sure you did," Mary mocks. She inspects the young man, and whilst there is certain charm to his smile, there is no denying from his shabby clothes that he is a third-class passengers and third-class passengers are simply not good for impressionable young ladies. Especially not good-looking third passengers.

Sybil walks over to her sister and gives Tom an apologetic smile. She knows how Mary can be and the last thing she wants is for Mary to rip apart the one person who actually treats her like she is equal. "Maybe, we should go back inside," Sybil murmurs to her sister before she addresses Tom, "It was really nice talking to you, Mr Branson. I do hope everything turns out the way you want it in Ireland."

"Do you mean that?" Tom says frankly and Sybil can practically feel her sister tense next to her.

Sybil looks at Tom in the eye, and without thinking about it, she replies honestly, "Yes, I do."

He seems to take her reply in stride and nods to himself happily. "Well, then I can only say the same for you, Lady Sybil. If you're ever to come to Dublin, I'd like to hear about your adventures," he says to her with a wink and Sybil feels her cheeks turn red as Mary rolls her eyes and grabs her sister's arm.

"Come along, Sybil, I've had Anna bring you some food into our suite and we mustn't keep her waiting," Mary says. "Good night, Mr Branson," she adds forcefully and Tom nods at her as she attempts to pull Sybil away from the Irishman.

Tom watches as the women disappear down the decks and he sits back on the bench, wondering if he should have done more. Part of him wishes to stay aboard the ship and continue to seek out Sybil, certain that he felt something between them but the other part of him can only think of one thing: Ireland. He's longed for home ever since he stepped foot in England and now that he is so close to returning there, he begins to wonder if that is the way his future is supposed to be. Come back home to Ireland, hopefully become a journalist, fight for Ireland's cause and then possibly get married and have many children.

But then maybe it was destiny for him to meet Sybil. Granted that as large as the Titanic was, there was only so many places for them to meet, and for him to encounter her twice in one day, well, that would have to be some sort of God's play, wouldn't it?

He shakes his head and finds his stomach rumbling, realizing that he has forgotten to go to dinner. He looks at his watch and finds that it still isn't _that_ late so he decides to stroll to third-class dining room, hoping that there will be food to help him in the battle of his head and his heart.

When he arrives there, he finds that the room is still crowded with passengers, many of them having devoured their meals.

"Tommy, over here," yells out Kieran's voice and he finds his brother sitting with Albert in the corner. "Where've you been?" Kieran asks as Tom takes a seat next to him.

"I was thinking," Tom answers, not comfortable in telling him what has just happened.

"Well, I don't think there's any food left. Everyone here's hungry," Kieran says, taking a drink from his bottle. "Have some beer instead." He pushes an unopened one towards his brother, but Tom declines.

"Come on, one won't hurt you," Kieran goads, "Or are you chicken. Just like when we were kids and you wouldn't that grand ole tree we had."

"I nearly broke my arm, remember," Tom retorts but Kieran simply laughs and waves it in Tom's face.

"How about one for Ireland, then? You can't refuse that." Kieran knows he has his brother when Tom winces and he gives in, grabbing the bottle from his brother's hand and opens it up, taking a large gulp from it. Some of the liquid runs down his face and even though Kieran is cheering and Albert is shaking his head, Tom can feel that this is a bad idea.

* * *

AN: Just a quick note that since Kieran will be appearing on the show in the next episode, the Kieran in my story will undoubtedly be different, but for future chapters, I will try to mix the two so he resembles somewhat the Fellowes character. Thanks y'all


	4. April 11, 1912: I

_"Man cannot discover new oceans unless he has the courage to lose sight of the shore."_  
_Andre Gide_

When Tom wakes up, the first thing he notices is not his pounding headache or the shooting pains in his body, but rather an arm draped over his torso.

"Kieran, you arse, get off," Tom groans, shoving his brother off of him. He sits up and shakes his head, attempting to remember the previous night. Images flash through his mind – Kieran cackling, Albert sighing, people singing and for some reason, a flying pig. That last one though, he's not quite sure.

He attempts to stand up, but finds himself falling back to the ground with a thud and Kieran rolls over on his back, cracking one eye open.

"Christ, Tom. Learn to stand," Kieran mumbles and Tom swats his brother with his palm, before lying back on the ground. He shields his eyes from the light in their room, prepared to go back to sleep when a realization crosses his mind.

"Fuck! Kieran, get your arse up!" Tom shouts, filled with sudden sobriety. He pulls himself to his feet, and grabs at their bags. "Wake up! Come on!"

He yells at his brother until Kieran is up on his feet, and throws a bag at him, desperate to get out of the room and onto the deck. When they're ready, they sprint down the hallways, climbing staircase after staircase. They shove and push past people, earning them looks of disapproval, but Tom doesn't care if it means it'll get him closer to Irish soil. Once they hit the deck, Tom scrambles to find the nearest exit, hoping to God that even though the sun is glaring high in the sky they haven't missed the passenger boats departing from the ships.

"Tommy!" Kieran calls out, but Tom doesn't listen. He keeps running along the decks, Ireland in his sight until Kieran catches up to him and grabs him by his coat. "It's no use, Tommy, we're too late."

_Too late_. The words resonate through Tom's head as he breaks free from his brother's hold and stares out at Cork Harbour growing smaller as the ship sails away from it, Ireland disappearing once more from his grasp. He imagines his family in their cottage, waiting for them to return. He wonders how long his mother will wait until she realizes her sons won't step through her front door.

"This is your fault," Tom snaps, shoving at his brother. "We were nearly there, Kieran. Nearly home."

"Alright, calm down, Tommy. We'll find a way back."

Tom shakes his head. "And how are we supposed to do that? This ship is headed to _America_. Our pass isn't even valid for that. Do suppose we'll arrive there and they'll just let us in? '_Why of course you Irishmen are welcome to our country_, _have a frankfurter'."_

"Tom-"

"No, Kieran," Tom grunts, "We were so close to getting back home and now who knows when we'll ever get back to Ireland." Tom walks off and heads to the other end of the ship, desperate to be as far away from his brother as he can. When he finds an empty bench, he plops down onto it, throwing his head into his hands. He can't believe that after spending all that time in England, here he is again on another ship to a foreign land. They say that America is the land of dreams, but he's never believed that because his dreams have always involved Ireland. Ever since he was a young boy, his imagination had grown rich with words of Yeats and Ferguson telling love stories of the land. He had imagined that he would grow up with words of his own and then when the time came, he would settle down with the sweetest woman he could find and together they'd have a brood of wild young with the spirit of Ireland in their souls.

"You're still here? I would've thought you'd be long gone," says a familiar voice and Tom doesn't need to look up to know that Albert has taken a seat beside him.

"To be honest, I wish I weren't."

"I'm afraid I feel that I had some part to do with this," Albert says. "I saw you boys asleep on the ground and I thought to myself to wake you for breakfast, but then decided against it. I thought that after last night, you two might need more rest before you depart. I'm terribly sorry."

Tom turns his head to face the old man who is fumbling with the buttons on his coat and says politely, "I won't have you apologizing, Albert, for something that wasn't your fault. Kieran and I are grown men. We should've known better," he pauses and adds, "I should've known better."

Albert pats Tom on the shoulder and offers a small smile. "It can't be that bad, though. You are, after all, on the Titanic. Think of all the people who would give their souls just to be on this ship."

"Is that why you choose the Titanic to be your last grand voyage?" Tom asks, curious to hear about the kind man's past. "Why were you in England?"

"Looking for a lost love," Albert replies, his voice soft.

"Did you find her?"

A nod. "Indeed I did, but I was a touch too late."

"She was married?"

"She had been. Married for thirty years to a lawyer, someone with more money that I could ever have." Albert inspects his fingers, long and wrinkly. "She went with the spring last year."

Tom is lost for words, and all he can manage to say is, "I'm sorry."

Albert glances at him and replies, "I won't have you apologizing for something that wasn't your fault."

They share a smile and Tom sits back in his seat, pulling his coat closer. "I've never been in love," he admits. "At least, not that I can remember."

"If you can't remember, then you haven't. It's a marvelous feeling, one that you could never forget. My advice," Albert stands up and stretches his arms out, "is don't let it slip through your fingers if you do find it. You don't want to wake up one day an old man with a hole in your heart."

Tom nods, appreciative of the message and as Albert leaves for lunch, he finds his brother sneaking towards the bench and sitting down on the now vacant spot.

"Are you still angry?" Kieran asks and Tom scoffs.

"What do you think?"

Kieran shrugs and drapes an arm over the back of the bench. "I'm expecting you to be."

Tom offers no reply.

"Come on, Tommy, you're making it seem like it's the first time I've let you down. We'll find a way back to Ireland. We'll get jobs in America and once we have the money, we'll get the first boat out of there. Remember, I've always got a plan."

"How long will that take though?"

"You're making it seem like Ireland will be gone before we get back."

Tom replies sternly, "How do you know it won't be?"

His brother rubs the back of his neck and holds onto the edge of the bench as the ship tilts against the current. "I miss Ireland too, Tommy, don't you forget that. There are greater things out there, though. Greater lands, greater cultures, maybe not greater people, but there is a large, grand world out there. Think of what we could happen to us in America. Two young Irishmen with the world at their feet. You can write, I can drink. Maybe we'll find sweet birds to take home to Ma. I doubt she'd like that, but you can imagine how hilarious it'd be if we did."

Tom is hesitant to listen, but for the first time in a long time, he finds himself slowly swayed by his older brother's words.

"Maybe this is fate, Tommy. You remember how Ma allows told us how it was fate that led her to meet Da. This could be fate telling us that us that we're meant to travel to America and you can't mess with fate 'cause she's a tough, old bird."

Tom laughs, a real, honest genuine laugh and even though he is still annoyed, the anger in him has died away, courtesy of hearing Kieran still considering himself young.

"And what about our passes?" Tom asks. "How are we going to get into the country?"

"Can't be too hard. We're Irish. We've got lady luck on our side."

"You've never been lucky in your life, Kieran. You lost at poker to a half blind drunk once, remember?"

"Then it's a good thing I have you, Tommy boy. A good thing indeed."

* * *

A/N: Hello! I am terribly sorry about the lack of updating with the story. I have to admit that after watching how Season 3 turned out, I've had a bit of a Downton withdrawal, but here I am, desperately hoping to finish this story. Thank you to everyone who is still interested in how this will pan out. You're all stars! And a great thanks to YankeeCountess who sent me a kind message months ago. You're a champ and this chapter is dedicated to you. Hope y'all enjoy!


	5. April 11, 1912: II

_"We must free ourselves of the hope that the sea will ever res. We must learn to sail in high winds."  
Aristotle Onassis_

For lunch aboard the Titanic, the Crawleys find themselves in the Café Parisien amongst the best of the first-class passengers. There is still tension in the air as Sybil refuses to look her father in the eye, but he's simply pleased that her dress today ended in a skirt rather than pants.

"Your first time on a ship, Lady Sybil? Why that's a travesty," Thomas Andrews banters as he cuts his buckwheat cake into pieces. The ship's architect is a decent man with thinning dark hair and a cleft chin and as the rest of her family chatter with their other table guests, she finds herself enjoying his company. "And so how would you rate my little ship then?"

"It's beautiful," Sybil replies honestly. "But there is so much for us first-class passengers. I can only wonder how things are in the other compartments."

Andrews leaned in, his voiced hushed so that only Sybil could hear, "That's what I worried about as well. I tried to arrange more space. Actually, there were a lot of things I tried to do, but the powers that be overruled me. It seems that designing a ship means nothing these days."

"But you'll design more ships, wont you? It's your passion."

"Indeed it is, Lady Sybil," Andrews says. "I'll design as many ships as God will allow."

The ship's horn blows interrupting the chatter and Sybil peers at the painted windows behind her, barely making out the land in the distance.

"The people from Cork Harbour must've arrived," Andrews explains.

Sybil pauses. "So people would've left the ship already?"

"Correct. Why? Did you know someone?"

A faint blush rises on Sybil cheeks and she shakes her head, "Not particularly. I just – I mean, I did meet one Irishman but I suppose he's gone by now."

"Ah, you be careful," Andrews says with a wink, "Irishmen are tricky devils."

"You mean just like you, Mr Andrews?" Sybil snickered.

"Except I'm much worse or so my wife says."

Sybil laughs, shaking her head. She's glad to have found a friend in Andrews, one who doesn't seem as obsessed with money and status as most of the first-class passengers. He tells her stories of his wife and daughter back in Ireland and how he misses them terribly. In return, she tells him all that she can about Downton Abbey but she can imagine that it doesn't live to the idyllic sound of Ireland.

As breakfast comes to end, a steward approaches with a summons for Andrews and before he leaves he turns to her and offers, "If you're ever interested, Lady Sybil, I'd be happy to show you and your family around the ship."

"I'd be delighted, Mr Andrews," she replies. "Please let me know whenever you're available."

"If I can get this problem sorted out, I shall hopefully have an answer for you by tonight."

"What exactly has gone wrong? If you don't mind me asking."

Andrews sighs, whacking the note in his hand, "Apparently, there's been some trouble in storage. A couple of the cars seem to have been damaged by loose items so Captain Smith wants something moved and I have to look for the space and most likely someone to service them." He leaves and Sybil returns to her family's conversations, although she hardly participates.

When the Crawley family leave the café, it isn't long before they all attend to different agendas. The men head to the steam room and the women are booked for a pampering session in the Turkish baths. Sybil, however, has other plans.

She heads straight to the first-class library and scours the shelves until she finds the book she wants. It's thinner than she expected and the pages are still crisp, but eagerly she pulls it from its spot and proceeds to the librarian.

She ignores the odd look that the elderly woman is giving her as she writes Sybil's details down. After all, why would a well brought up Englishwoman be interested in 'Ireland through the Ages'?

As soon as the book is hers, Sybil moves to the upper decks, finding a spot under the clear sky to read. The details in the book are concise and many things don't seem to fit. She assumes that the author is anything but Irish, as sections seem to praise the English integration of Ireland rather than provide a detailed impact of the act. It angers her to know that history seems to constantly repeat itself and that people still don't have the right to many things. She wonders when the world will ever change.

She's onto the last chapter when a figure stands in front of her, casting a shadow over herself and her book. She looks up, ready to pounce on the intruder, but her aggravation dissipates when she finds herself looking up at the smiling face of Tom Branson.

* * *

Yes, he has been watching her.

He had been leaning against the ship's railings, trying to clear his mind about the debacle he was in, when he had seen her scurry onto the deck and take a seat on one of the chairs. He'll never admit it, though. The last thing he wants is for her to think him a creep, but as he glances around, he sees that he isn't the only one casting her a second glance.

She fumbles through the pages of her book, tugging on the loose strands of her dark hair and pausing every so often to lick her lips. He watches as passages make her scowl, and some cause her to shake her head. Other times she sits perfectly engrossed in what she discovers that she doesn't notice the young men walk past her, leering like she is a lamb ready for the roast and so he glares at them when they come past him.

He considers waiting for her to finish her book before he approaches, but as he spots a group of more men strolling the decks, he decides to make his move. He saunters over to her and stands directly in her sunlight, smirking as she looks up at him.

"Mr Branson," she exclaims and her smile makes his grow more. "I thought you'd be gone by now?" She folds the corner of her page and closes her book.

"I thought so too, actually." He takes a seat next to her. "But it turns out I'm stuck here."

Sybil banters, "That can't be such a bad thought?"

"No, I suppose not," he replies, his lips curled.

She can feel her cheeks grow red and so she looks away, pretending to look at her book so that she doesn't give him too much to be proud of. His eyes trail to her gaze and he gives out a laugh when he reads the title of the book.

"I didn't realise you were so keen on Ireland?" he says amused.

"I generally wasn't," she pauses and hands him the book, "that it is until yesterday." His eyes meet hers and they share a moment of realisation that has them both smiling bashfully.

He flips through the book and instantly, his demeanour changes as he reads though the paragraphs, obviously distraught by what is written.

"This is a pile of sh-rubbish. It doesn't even talk about the people. All it is is facts and statistics. Nothing about what the Irish have lost, just what the English have gained."

He starts discussing with her _his_ version of Ireland's history, one that seems far more colourful than the pages of the book. There's the Great Famine and the revival of the Gaelic language. He's not that fluent, but when he attempts to speak the language, she finds his stammering endearing. She soon learns about the Home Rule movement and how civil war is looming.

"And so you want Ireland to be a socialist country?" Sybil questions.

"We deserve to be ruled under our own government, not by someone else's king and the aristocracy," he says the words with fervent passion that he doesn't notice Sybil flinch at the last word. Admittedly, part of her does feel guilty. She feels guilty knowing that people in her class have abused their power, subjecting others to questionable fates and it disgusts her knowing she's probably dined with them at parties.

He senses something wrong with her as she grows quiet, and immediately he realises his mistake in words, adding quickly, "At least, I can tell you're different."

Her head perks up. "I am?"

"Well, after that history lesson, you're still here talking to me. Not many people would be caught with a third-class passenger."

She nods and they come to a mutual silence, taking in the ocean and clear sky. The deck they're on is crowded with mainly second and third passengers, but regardless of their status, each of them seem to be enjoying themselves on the grand ship. There are children playing, hiding behind the deck chairs and scaring each other. Parents meeting other parents as they chase after their young. Men smoking. Women laughing. It's different from the first-class deck, she realises, where everyone is proper and persistent about appearances.

Everyone here on this deck is…_alive._

"So, what plans do you have Mr Branson for when you arrive in New York?"

Tom chortles. "I'm not even sure myself. My brother and I have barely a cent to our name. I suppose I'll have to find a job over there. I'd hate to go back to being a chauffer, but if it means money to get home, then so be it."

A realisation dawns on Sybil and she almost shrieks as she stands up, motioning for him to do the same.

"I've got an idea," she says enthusiastically. "You'll have to come with me, though."

He raises an eyebrow and looks at her, confused but amused. He won't admit some of things going through his mind at the moment, but as she stands there in front of him, beaming, he knows that already he would go wherever she would ask.

They descend through the levels of the Titanic and even though they are subjected to looks from the other passengers, he stays close to her. She doesn't tell him where they're headed for, but as she asks around, he finds that their destination is storage. He can't possible imagine what she has in store for him there and even though, she seems to be a fiery young woman, he doesn't expect things to go _that _fast.

Even though the lower levels are far inferior to the upper decks, she seems unfazed as they weave through the hallways, chatting to him about an Irishman named Mr Andrews. They way she speaks about him makes Tom feel a pang of jealousy, a ridiculous notion considering he's only known Lady Sybil for a day, but as soon as she mentions Mr Andrew's family, he finds himself exceptionally relieved.

They walk no further than the post office when they find Mr Andrews heading towards them from the opposite direction.

"Mr Andrews," Sybil calls out and the man waves at them.

"Lady Sybil, I didn't expect to find you here," Mr Andrews says, although his gaze is on Tom who stands straighter, not wanting to be intimidated by the older man.

"I know, but I wanted to ask you how things were in storage."

"Not so great, m'lady. It turns out that the cars seem to have been damaged more than we expected. We're still looking for someone to service them."

Sybil grinned proudly. "You won't have to look further. May I present you Mr Tom Branson, former chauffeur." Tom looks at her with startled eyes and she nudges at him to say something.

Andrews beats him to it. "A chauffeur?"

"Former, I worked as one for two years," Tom stresses. Andrews relaxes as he moves his head from Sybil to Tom and he smirks realises that Sybil hasn't taken her eyes off of the young Irishman.

"Would you be willing to work, Mr Branson?" Andrews asks, but Tom says nothing.

Sybil senses his hesitation and so she adds with certainty, "He will be paid, won't he, Mr Andrews?"

"Of course. You'll receive a cheque from the White Star Line at the end of the voyage."

She pulls at Tom's sleeve and whispers, "Take it. You have the knowledge and it'll provide you with a start. It'll help you get home."

_Home. _It's the magic word and even though, it is working with cars again, he knows that she has a point.

He's grateful for her. Never has he had anyone been willing to help him without expecting anything in return. His Ma had told once that the universe works in mysterious ways, and he can't be more thankful that it does when he looks at her, beautiful and kind Sybil.

"Mr Branson, if Lady Sybil thinks you're good enough, I have reason to trust her judgement. It's your decision," Andrews says.

Tom swallows his pride and replies earnestly, "When can I start?"

* * *

A/N: Hmm, so I'm not quite sure how I feel about this chapter, but it is setting the scene for everything else. To those interested, I've made a little trailer for the story. There are small spoilers though, so be warned! And also, I just wanted to show everyone a lovely ad that YankeeCountess made. They're both on my author page as I unfortunately cannot link them here, so check them out and show Yankee Countess some love!


	6. April 11, 1912: III

_"Most of us, I suppose, are a little nervous of the sea. No matter what its smiles may be, we doubt its friendship."_  
_H.M Tomlinson_

Out of all the people on the ship, Sybil can't believe her unfortunate luck when she finds herself seated next to Larry Grey at dinner. She's known him since she was a young girl and admittedly he was her first suitor, but now that they've grown older, she can see that he is no better than the arrogant, young men in her class. Throughout dinner, he talks of money and hunting, things she has no care for and so she lets her mind wander to a certain Irishman.

_Tom Branson._

When she had first met him, she had thought that it had simply been the accent and his smile that had made him endearing, but she realizes that there is much –_much -_ more to him. She thinks back to how proudly he spoke about Ireland however obvious it was that he missed it desperately as his voice softened at the end of his talks.

She wonders what happened after she had left Tom with Andrews as the architect had told her that storage wasn't safe with the sliding items. She hopes that somehow they had become acquainted and maybe, if she asks politely, she'll find out information about the chauffeur from Andrews.

"Sybil? Sybil!"

She flinches at the sound of her name and finds everyone at the table staring at her.

"Sybil, dear, are you alright?" her mother asks, concerned for her youngest daughter. "You haven't been responding to us."

"Oh. I think I may just need some air or a walk," Sybil stammers, shaking all thoughts of Tom from her head. "I don't think I'm quite used to the sea."

Her mother nods and as Sybil stands up, excusing herself from the table, Larry turns to her father and says, "May I suggest I accompany Lady Sybil on her walk, Lord Grantham? I wouldn't want any trouble to come to her."

_No, no_, Sybil thinks but her father nods his head, stating that it's a sound idea.

"You don't have to, Larry. I honestly don't mind," she tries to persuade him, but he's already standing and follows her out of the dining room.

She's about to head towards the deck when Larry takes hold of her arm and instantly, she turns to face him, surprised by his touch.

"How about," he pauses, flashing her a sly grin, "we explore the ship?"

"Larry, I don't think that's appropriate," Sybil stresses, pulling her hand out of his grasp. "I really do need some air."

"Come on, Sybil. Where's your sense of adventure? I would've thought you'd be more fun than this."

Sybil is taken back and nonetheless annoyed. "Of course, I'm fun."

"Right now, you're boring me."

He holds his arm out, nudging at her to take it and even though her instincts are practically shouting at her to decline, she fears that may have inherited too much of Mary's stubbornness to let the man think that he is right.

And so she loops her arm with his and together they walk off.

* * *

"Where are you taking me, Larry?" Sybil asks as they head down another hallway. They've descended further into the ship then she would've liked and whilst places seem familiar, she can't help but feel unnerved. "When you said explore, I thought you meant exploring somewhere interesting. Where are we?"

"Isn't this fun? You and me," he sniggers, "like we used to do when we were younger.

"That was until you began ignoring me for Lady Elsa."

"Oh Sybil, you know that you've always been my favourite."

Sybil rolls her eyes. She knows that's a lie as it's no secret among their county that Larry has become a ladies man. Tales of his escapades always manage to reach Downton and so she's thankful that she outgrew her affection for him years ago.

"Larry," she begins, growing anxious as she notices that the people in the hallways are becoming fewer. "I think it best if we go back," she says but he ignores her.

They reach a dead passageway, barely lit with a dingy light fixture that sparks and as the roaring of the engines sift through the walls, Sybil lets go of Larry's arm. She's itching to head back, but instead he grabs her by the waist and edges her closer to the wall.

"Larry, let go of me," she shrieks, moving restlessly under his hold. "I'll scream." She attempts to swat at him but it's no use as he just laughs at her.

"I thought you were fun," Larry growls, bringing his face closer to hers. "Don't you want to have some fun?"

She can see it in his eyes. A carnal desire that has her as his target and even though she continues trying to fight him off, he moves himself so that he is towering over, his hands now holding down her arms.

"Larry, don't–"

His lips come crashing onto hers and she yelps against his mouth that tastes of cigars and wine. He prods at her lips to open, but she pulls them back, trying to move her head so that she can scream. As his kiss deepens against the corner of her mouth and his hands begin to roam over her figure, she closes her eyes and begins to pray.

* * *

It's nine thirty when Tom decides he's done enough for the day. Luckily for him, the job isn't too demanding and he imagines that he'll have the cars serviced in at least three days. As he packs away the tools, he stops and surveys the items in storage. Cars, luggage, paintings and statutes are scattered throughout the room, all expensive in taste. He thinks that it a waste that so much money is spent on material items when there are people in the streets, homeless and hungry. He imagines that if he'll ever get the chance to get his life together, he'll live a simple life; none of this excessive spending.

He grabs his jacket hanging off one of the statues, picks up the toolbox and as he heads to the door, he reminds himself to lock it with the key that Andrews has given him.

Mr Andews had proven himself to be a fine fellow, having stayed with Tom for a few hours in storage. Together, they had reminisced about Ireland, discussed politics and even talked about their families. Andrews had even offered some of his Jamesons whiskey – Ireland's finest – from his whisk, but Tom had declined, although promising him a drink sometime when he wasn't working.

As Tom locks up and heads though the bottom level, hoping that at least this time Kieran's saved him some dinner, he notices figures in the distance, encased in the shadows of the hallway. Typically, he assumes that they're lovers hoping for privacy in the large ship and so he turns the corner, happy to give them some, but suddenly he hears a woman's scream and he wastes no time dropping his toolbox and charging back.

"You get your hands off of her," he shouts, storming towards the couple and just as he's about to reach them, the woman's head moves an inch, highlighted in a glimmer of the light and Tom's heart stops but his legs don't as he lunges at the man threatening to hurt Sybil.

"You bastard," Tom bellows as he finds himself on top of Larry. He grabs at Larry's lapel with hand and punches him in the face with the other. "How dare you touch her!"

He punches him again and even though he can feel Sybil pulling him, he lays one more on Larry's jaw.

"Tom," Sybil begs him. She's grateful. More grateful than she's ever been to one and whilst she does secretly enjoy watch Larry learn his lesson, she also knows that dangers if anyone were to find them at that exact moment. "_Please_."

It's the despair in her voice that gets to him and he reluctantly – very reluctantly – lets go of Larry, letting his head bounce on the floor. He glares at him and snarls, "Pathetic," before he stands up and turns to face Sybil. There are tears in her eyes and her hair is a mess but still, she is beautiful.

"Are you alright?" he asks her softly, and she nods her head, whimpering before diving into his arms and wrapping hers around his body. He is shocked but her touch, but slowly he brings her closer, inhaling her scent of lavender and lily as she leans her head against his chest.

"Let's go," he whispers and she lets go of him, looking up with red eyes. He takes his hand and brushes it gently over her cheek.

"Oi! Let her go!"

They turn their heads to the sight of two officers running towards them with nothing but discontent on their faces.

"This is wrong, officers. Please listen to me," Sybil pleads, but it's no use as they consistently tell her that they'll take of _him._ She can't believe that she's following them as they push at Tom to walk, handcuffed and angry.

"Would you listen to her?" he exclaims, as they firm their grip on his shoulders.

"Let him be, Sybil," Larry murmurs as he walks behind her, but she stops and turns to face him.

"Don't. You. Dare. Talk. To. Me," she growls at him, ferocity laced in her voice. "I never want you talking to me or coming near me ever again. Do you understand?"

He says nothing.

She raises her voice, "I said 'Do you understand' or did Mr Branson knock you so hard that you've lost all sense of sound?"

Larry has no time to answer when a voice cries out, "Sybil?" and Sybil spins her head to find two familiar figures coming towards them.

"Oh, Mary!" Sybil says and instantly runs to her sister, enveloping her a tight hug. "I've never been so happy to see you."

"I'll take that as a compliment, I suppose," Mary replies. "Larry, what has happened to your face? And Mr Branson?" She pulls at Sybil a little tighter when she realizes that Tom is in handcuffs and deduces what has somewhat occurred.

"What happened here?" Matthew asks, taking a step closer to his family.

"We found 'em, sir," says one of the officers. "This one," he shoves at Tom, "had his hands on the lady and the other one was on the ground."

Mary lets out a gasp and Matthew's jaw drops as he moves towards Tom.

"How dare you go near her," Matthew says, aghast by the man, but Sybil reaches out at him and tells him, "No, Matthew. It wasn't like that."

"Wasn't like what, Sybil?" Mary asks, looking at her sister along with everyone else there in the hallway.

Sybil breaks out of Mary's hold and stands beside Tom. She wants more than anything to tell everyone the truth. To tell them it should be the other way around with Larry in chains and Tom praised as the hero, but she knows how society works and through his actions, Tom could still find himself behind bars. So, she does the only thing she can think of that will help Tom, but because Lord knows that he saved her life, the least she could do is save his.

"It happened so fast," Sybil begins, fumbling with her hands. "Larry and I had gotten lost down here and we tried to find our way back, but it seemed like we were simply moving further away and so we came to a dead end, but one of the passengers – he must have been drunk – he attacked us and he hit Larry first who fell to the ground and he was about to attack me when Mr Branson came to our aid and luckily he fought the man off who then disappeared but I suppose we should all be happy that nothing further happened." She takes a long breath and no one makes a move, all of them trying to comprehend what she just said.

"I-uh, are you sure?" says one of the officers as Matthew and Mary share a look, but Sybil can tell that her sister isn't entirely convinced.

"Of course I am," Sybil affirms. "Isn't that right, _Larry_?" She glowers at him as he continues patting his jaw and he merely returns the look before he nods.

"Oh," Matthew says, breaking the tension, "well, I suppose if that's the case, then you should let Mr Branson go. You'd want to be looking for this rogue passenger." The officers are reluctant but with Mary's icy stare and Sybil's glare, they quickly uncuff Tom and are on their way.

"You must forgive them and I for coming to a quick accusation," Matthew says genuinely to Tom. "It's a good thing you were here."

Tom rubs his wrists, the feel of the metal still lingering but nods in appreciation.

Larry tries to shove past them, but as he's about to leave, Mary says to him with her eyebrows raised, "Shouldn't you be thanking Mr Branson?"

"I want nothing from him," Tom says coldly and Larry scowls before walking off.

"It's a good thing we came to find you, Sybil," Mary says. "It seems that all I've been be doing on this ship."

"I'm glad of that though," Sybil replies and she smiles warmly at her sister. "But if there's one person, I should be thankful for, it is Mr Branson." She looks up adoringly at Tom and Mary rolls her eyes as Tom returns the look.

"Well, if we're all settled here, I suppose it is time that we head back, Sybil. You should get some rest after the ordeal you've been through," Mary says, slipping her arm into Matthew's. "Mr Branson, I am terribly grateful for what you did tonight. Who knows what may have occurred if you hadn't intervened."

"I'd never let harm come to her," Tom says, meaning every word and Mary finds herself studying the young man who her sister seems to be infatuated with.

"If there's anything we can do for you, please let us know," Matthew says but is interrupted by the sound of Tom's growling stomach.

"Excuse me," Tom says, his cheeks growing red. "My stomach seems to be telling me that it's hungry. I can't believe I'm actually wanting some food from the dining room."

As his stomach grumbles again, Sybil comes up with an idea. "You should have dinner with us tomorrow."

Matthew and Mary both look at her, but their expressions contrast as Matthew nods, proud of the idea whereas Mary is scandalized.

"Sybil, darling, do you think that best?" Mary says cautiously. She can only imagine the having a third-class passenger in _their_ dining room.

Matthew replies, "I think it's a smart idea. He can join us tomorrow and tell the table of his heroics."

"Please say you'll come," Sybil pleads with Tom, and whilst he knows he shouldn't as it goes against his beliefs dining with the aristocracy, one look from her doe-eyes and instantly he says "yes".

* * *

AN: So, I'm trying to make a Star-Crossed Lovers playlist for me with songs that will inspire me as I write this because I'm finding I need it and was wondering if anyone had any suggestions? I'd love to hear them!


	7. April 12, 1912: I

_"On life's vast ocean diversely we sail, reason the card, but passion is the gail."  
Alexander Pope_

It's after midnight when Kieran finds Tom on the upper deck, leaning against the rails. His younger brother stares out at the ocean, dark and mysterious and so Kieran sneaks up beside him.

"Been looking for you," Kieran says. "Thought you might like me now. Still not talking to me? I can take a hint." He lets out a sigh and pats his brother on the back, prepared to leave when Tom says to him, "Stay, you clown."

Tom smiles softly at him and Kieran returns the affection, pleased to finally be on his brother's good side. "Besides," Tom begins, "you won't believe the day I had."

As Kieran listens intently, Tom recounts his day, astonished by his own story as he describes meeting Sybil again…

"Oo, she's a fine looking bird, that one, Tommy."

"Kieran."

"I'm just saying. You don't say many of them on this ship. Half the women in third class have moustaches. I had a man come up to me at dinner, asking me for a dance. Turns out she was a woman but boy, she was a great dancer."

…to getting a job with Mr Andrews…

"Maybe I should ask him for a job. What you reckon?"

"I don't think they have anything onboard for idiots."

"So, waiter would be out of the question, then?

"They only hire the good looking ones for that."

"You're lucky you're working for Mr Andrews then, Tommy."

…to the disaster with Larry Grey.

"What a fucking piece of shite," Kieran drops, slamming his hand on the metal rails. "Trust, them rich Englishmen thinking they can do whatever they want. Too right, you hit him. I'd clobber his face had it been me."

Tom nods, appreciative that his brother shares his feelings. "It's just not that, though." He pauses, unsure whether to continue. When he closes his eyes, he can picture Sybil in his arms once more. How her arms felt warm wrapped around his chest and how her head had fit perfectly in the nook of his neck. He tries to inhale the salty, ocean scent but all he can smell was lavender and lily. "Something else happened, Kieran."

Kieran furrows his eyebrows. "What's wrong?"

"I got invited to dinner."

"To dinner?"

"Yes, to dinner. Sybil asked me to join tomorrow."

Kieran frowns. "You said no, right? She's pretty, Tommy, but you know better."

When Tom stays silent, Kieran shakes his head and grasps at the bars, questioning his brother's sanity. "Is this what you want? To be sitting with those kind of people? We don't belong with them and if you think for a second they'll welcome you, you're wrong."

"She's different," Tom mutters.

"But are they? You don't even know her."

"So, are you saying I'm not good enough for her," Tom raises his voice, but Kieran replies, "I'm not saying that."

"It's beginning to sound like you are."

Kieran takes a deep breath and faces the ocean rather than his brother's disappointed face. He knows that look. He sees it every time he does something wrong to his brother. He remembers when they were younger and Tom used to look at him like he was a hero, the big brother who he could always be proud of, but now…now he's just Kieran, the man who would always let his baby brother down.

"Tom," Kieran starts, his tone stern and honest, "You'll always be better them, I have no doubt about that, but you have to be realistic. Life's not like the fairytales Ma told us when we were young. Lady Sybil is just that. A lady. And ladies don't marry men like us, Tommy. They just don't. The world may be changing, but things like that – they stay the same. You'd have to wait years before that could ever happen."

Tom lowers his head, letting his brother's words sink in, but deep down, he knows that whatever this is – whatever feeling it may be – it's strong.

"I'd wait forever," Tom finally says, ignoring the quick chuckle that Kieran gives. "If I truly did love someone with all my heart and they loved me back, then regardless of what class she may be, I'd wait forever to be with her."

"That's why you're a dreamer," Kieran replies. "Even when you were young, you were always wanting things you couldn't have or believing in things that couldn't be true. Remember that time you climbed that tree and you nearly broke your arm? You can believe it was 'cause I coaxed you, but it was 'cause you wanted that last apple on the highest branch. That's what you do and that's what you're doing right now. You're chasing after a dream with Lady Sybil and if you're not careful, it'll be easy for this to fall into a right nightmare before the end of this trip." Kieran stops talking and whilst he knows that Tom can hear exactly what he's saying, he wonders if his brother is truly listening, though. If there's one thing Tom is, that is stubborn and when it comes to seeking out advice, Kieran has never been Tom's choice person.

However, when Tom opens his mouth, it's the question that falls out of his lips that surprises Kieran.

"Have you ever been in love, Kieran?" Tom questions. He knows that Kieran has had his fair share of women over the years, women that have never stayed more than a month, but now that he thinks about it truly, he wonders if there's more to his brother than meets the eye.

Kieran shrugs his shoulders. "Love's a tricky word, Tommy. I may have been. A long, _long_, time ago but things change. Who knows, maybe in America, I'll find myself a nice bird to bring home to Ma. After all, the accent drives them crazy over there."

Together they share a laugh. The wind begins to pick up and Tom pulls his jacket closer to his body.

"Listen," Kieran says, "if you want, you can sleep in the cabin. I'll take the floor."

Tom is grateful for the gesture but shakes his head, "I'll be fine out here. What's better for a dreamer than sleeping under the stars?"

His brother nods, although a bit displeased and so he does the next best thing for Tom. "Here, take this," Kieran says as he takes off his jacket and hands it to Tom. "It'll keep you warm."

The jacket is made of thick tweed and Tom is touched, knowing that it's Kieran's favourite having bought it for less than what it was worth from a flea market in London. Tom tries to hand it back, but Kieran refuses, holding his hands up in the air.

"Take it but if anything happens to it, you'll have me to answer to," Kieran jokes as he begins to walk off. He stops and turns around when Tom calls out his name.

"What about the dinner?" Tom asks, "Should I go?"

Kieran sinks his hands into the pocket and answers, "It's your decision, Tommy. I can try telling you all I want what I believe you should do, but you'll never listen to me. I just want you to be careful. You may be a grown man, but you're still my little brother."

Tom smiles softly. "You're still an old man, Kieran," he banters and Kieran laughs, calling out as he leaves, "At least, I'm still better looking."

With Kieran gone, Tom puts on his brother's jacket over his, taking in the scent of whiskey. Already, he feels warmer against the night breeze and as he moves to one of the benches, lying down on the wood, he closes his eyes and finds himself surprised that when he dreams that night, it isn't of a girl with the prettiest blue eyes but of two young boys climbing trees in Ireland.

* * *

AN: First off, A BIG THANKOFF to everyone who sent me songs! I loved listening to all of them and they're on my new Star-Crossed Lovers playlist! If you guys have any more songs, I'd love to hear them. Okay, so this chapter was unexpected and that's why it's a bit shorter, but I realised I really wanted this scene because Kieran will play an important role later and so the Sybil/Tom confrontation that I promised some readers will come next! And just to let everyone know, Sybil's death aired in Australia today and so I'm still bawling my eyes out. But as YankeeCountess says ROCK THE AU and I actually think I may have a new Sybil/Tom AU coming, but I'm still considering it. We shall see! Night y'all.


	8. April 12, 1912: II

_"Man cannot discover new oceans unless he has the courage to lose sight of the shore."_  
_Andre Gide_

"Oh, there you two are," Mary says as she stands in the doorway of her sisters' bedroom. "We're about to head to breakfast."

"Well, if Sybil would hurry up, I'd like for Gwen to finish with my hair," Edith exclaims, watching from her bed as the red-haired maid fixes the flowers that Sybil had requested for her bun.

"Flowers, Sybil?" Mary steps into the room and raises an eyebrow at her sister. "You're going to a lot of trouble to look nice today."

Sybil pulls her head down as she tries to look at her hair in the mirror. "I always try to look nice."

"This wouldn't happen to be for a certain someone?"

Edith groans, "Please don't tell me this is for Larry Grey. I thought you were over him."

Sybil turns away from the mirror, shaking her head vigorously as she pulls her gloves on. "Please don't mention that odious name to me. I might not be able to eat breakfast." She stands up from the vanity table and moves next to Mary, allowing for Edith to have her turn.

"I don't understand," Edith says as Gwen begins to adjust the curls in her hair. "Has something happened?" She catches her sisters share a look. "I saw that. Am I to be the last to know whatever secret you two have?"

"Oh, you needn't worry," Mary says. "She hasn't even told me what she's hiding."

"I'm not hiding anything, Mary. I told you what happened last night."

Mary drops her head and raises her eyebrows, "If you expect me to believe that tale, then you are severely mistaken. I know something _else_ happened with Larry and Branson."

"Who's Branson?" Edith quips, but as Mary shrugs her shoulders, Sybil shakes her head once more.

"Honestly, Mary. You should be happy that Mr Branson was there. He saved my life from that awful La-" Sybil bites her tongue, having realizing what she is about to say and so she composes herself and says, "From that large man who could've done more harm."

"Will someone please tell me what is going on?" Edith snaps, addressing both her sisters. It was just like usual with Mary and Sybil excluding her and whilst she bore it most of the time, she always more fond of Sybil. "Sybil, has something happened you?"

"Oh Edith," Sybil says softly, moving towards her sister. She picks up a flower and attempts to put it in Edith's hair, but her sister swats at her hand. "As you can see I am perfectly fine now. Ten fingers, ten toes. Not a scratch."

Edith grimaces. She's knows full well Sybil's tricks, how her baby sister will put on a smile even when things are troubling her. Even as children, Sybil always had a smile on her face despite all the teasing Edith had done.

"That is until you tell Papa what's awaiting him at dinner," Mary spits out and Edith is once again confused, but curious as Sybil glares at their older sister.

Before Sybil came reply, their mother enters the room with an irate scowl on her porcelain face and her eyes set on her youngest daughter.

"Sybil," Cora begins, stressing her daughter's name, "Mr Andrews is outside and it would seem that he has quite the tale about you. You need to come outside right now."

Sybil's face falls and although she hesitates at first, she follows her mother out of the room with Mary and Edith close behind.

* * *

If there was one thing that Sybil discovered upon being on the Titanic, it was that officers loved to gossip.

"I'm sorry, but I thought you had known," Andrews says, his expression full of doubt. "I heard it from the officers this morning and I wanted to check up on Lady Sybil and express my deepest apologies that something like this happened."

It's obvious to Sybil that the man is simply concerned about her and even though he has caused much drama for their family this morning, she offers him a kind smile.

"Sybil, is this true?" Robert questions her, hoping that it is some simply some rumour or that the officers have his daughter confused for someone else. "Were you really assaulted by another passenger?"

Sybil is reluctant to speak, but ultimately nods. "Yes Papa but you needn't worry. As I said to Edith, I'm perfectly fine now."

Robert turns to his middle child, "You knew about this?"

"I barely knew a thing. It's Mary who has the whole story."

The family turns towards Mary, who looks at her sister in a deadpan manner. "We encountered them after dinner. Sybil was being escorted back to our level by the officers and it was there she told us what happened."

"If it helps, Robert, from the sounds of it, Branson arrived just in time before anything did happen," Matthew adds, but his father-in-law stares at him dismayed.

"And you knew about this too? Am I to be the last one to find out about the matters concerning my family?" Robert exclaims. "And this Branson? Who is he?"

"He's–" Sybil begins, but Andrews cuts her off, hoping to remedy some of the tension in the room by speaking best. "He's a temporary employee of the ship. We were in dire need of a someone to help service passenger cars and he was kind enough to offer his assistance."

The Dowager Countess rests her hands in her laps. "So, he's a chauffeur?"

"Ex-chauffeur, Granny," Sybil interjects. "It's simply a favour he's doing for the ship and when he gets to America, he'll be a journalist." Her apparent knowledge of Mr Branson's life garners a range of reactions from her family members and so she adds quickly, "But you'll meet him tonight." Her voice falters as she bites her lip and says, "I've invited him to dinner."

"You've done what?" Robert says as her mother looks down, rubbing her temples. "This is absurd. I won't have it."

"He saved my life and so I believe he deserved something in return," Sybil raises her voice and her father looks disbelieving as though someone has just told him that the Titanic was sinkable. "He's a fine man, Papa and imagine if he hadn't come alone. If he's not allowed at dinner, then I won't be there."

Robert shakes his head and lets out a grunt as he paces the room, trying to piece all this together.

"I'm sure no harm can come out of it," Isobel says breaking the tension as she stands up from the lounge. "In fact, I agree with Sybil that we should be thankful for the young man." She moves towards the door. "And if we are done with the hysterics, it would be nice to have breakfast."

"Hear, hear," Violet says, agreeing for once with her cousin. She's had enough of the drama for the morning and promptly follows Isobel out of the suite.

"I hope you know what you're doing," Robert says sternly at his youngest daughter before he leaves with the rest of the family. All Sybil can do is smirk.

* * *

After breakfast, there is only one place Sybil wants to visit and so she heads straight to storage. She hopes that he will be there and when she arrives, she is immediately pleased.

He's busy in thought as he tinkers with a car's engines and so she decides to partially hide behind a statute. She watches as his face scrunches up when he can't seem to fix something in the engine, rubbing the back of his neck in irritation. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows and she watches as he works diligently with oiled hands, fingers curled around tools and moving around the car's parts.

She remembers his touch from last night. His arms around her waist and his fingers stroking her back in comfort. Surprisingly, she had never felt safer than in his arms especially after the callous act that Larry had attempted. She shudders at the thought of Larry Grey and his disgusting hands over her body that she accidentally bumps her elbow into a piece of luggage.

Tom raises his head at the sound of the squeal and calls out, "Hello, is someone there?" and bashfully, Sybil emerges, clutching at her elbow.

"Hello," she says, her cheeks growing red, "I seemed to have hit my funny bone. I don't even know why they call it that when the pain isn't that funny."

Tom breaks out into a grin. She looks odd against the dullness of the room with her purple dress and her flowers in her hair, but all he can think is that he's happy to see her.

"You're awfully early to be down here," Tom says, wiping his hands with a washcloth. "I would've thought your family wouldn't let you out of their sights after last night."

She shrugs her shoulders. "My father tried to stop me after breakfast. He thinks I've gone to rest," she says smugly.

"And when he finds out the truth?"

"Well, I'll simply say I needed some air."

He chortles. He knew she was feisty, but she's proving to be quite the rebel. "Don't know what'd you want to find here in storage, though," he says with a gleam in his eyes and she bites her lip in amusement.

"Yes, I wonder that too," she replies and he smirks, shaking his head as she moves to stand next to him.

"Are you sure you want to be this close, Lady Sybil?" he asks her, "You might get your dress dirty."

"I'm all for a little dirt," she says in her husky voice and Tom realizes that he may actually be falling for Lady Sybil Crawley. "And please," she pleads, "Call me Sybil."

"_Sybil_." Her name falls off his tongue like it's the most precious word in all the world and she refrains herself from begging him to say it again. Luckily for her, it seems he's as enamored with the sound of his name as she is, when he says cheekily, " Well, Sybil, it's still Mr Branson for you," and as her face falls, he quickly laughs and adds, "I'm joking. Please, it's _Tom_."

She smiles and repeats his name, saying it delicately and he grins, happy to hear such a beautiful person consider him an equal.

They're oblivious to time as they spend hours together and it isn't until the lunch bell resonates throughout the ship that their conversation takes a turn.

"Shouldn't you be getting back?" Tom asks, putting down his wrench and facing a sitting Sybil. She considers going, at least for appearances sake, but she shakes her head.

"I'm not that hungry. If you are then I wouldn't mind accompanying you to lunch?" she says eagerly, but he nods towards his jacket.

"I took some breakfast from the dining room. There's some crackers in there if you're wanting a bite."

"I'll be fine. Besides I'm saving myself for dinner," her face breaks out into a smile, "You will be there, won't you?"

She notices instantly as he grows silent, returning back to the car engine. "Tom," she says, "you haven't changed your mind, have you? We will be expecting you at dinner, won't we?"

He stops tinkering with the car and looks down at the ground. "Aristocrats having dinner with a third class passengers. You don't think there'll be a commotion?"

She's on her feet, moving towards him before he finishes speaking. "I don't care what the aristocrats think."

"And your family? I can't imagine they'd be too pleased."

She hesitates. "You don't know how my family will react," but even she doesn't believe her words.

"Do you?"

When she says nothing, he shakes his head knowing that her doubt reaffirms all that his brother said. "I don't want to be somewhere where I'm not welcome especially by people who think them better than me," Tom says bluntly. "I'd rather be embarrassed by people of my _kind_."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he regrets it as a look of anger crosses her face. She huffs and steps away from him, crossing her arms over her chest and she exclaims, "I wasn't trying to _embarrass_ you. I was simply trying to _thank _you for what you did last night. I thought it'd be a nice gesture and if I'm going to be completely honest, I invited you because I wanted your company so excuse me but I think I'll leave now and head back to _my_ kind." She storms off, ignoring Andrews as he enters storage.

"Should I ask?" are the first words out of Andrews' mouth as he approaches but Tom groans and shakes his head, throwing his wrench to the ground.

"I'm an arse," Tom mutters and Andrews scoffs, picking up the tool and handing it back to Tom.

"Too right you are if you made Lady Sybil angry," Andrews says, leaning against the car. "Care to tell me what happened?"

Tom shrugs his shoulders, "I said some things."

"It must have been more than 'some things'."

"She invited me to dinner and I refused. I don't want to be paraded in front of the aristocracy for being poor."

Andrews lets out a low whistle and says, "Yes, you are an arse." Tom doesn't say a word and Andrews continues, "You know she stood up for you in front of her family today. I was there this morning and her father was giving her a hard time, but she refused to budge. Your problem, young man, is that you have too much pride and that can be a bad thing especially when you throw in a young woman."

Andrews is right. Of course Andrews is right, Tom thinks to himself. He realizes that he's being a complete idiot and if he's not careful, he may have just lost Sybil.

"I'll be quick. I was only supposed to come down here to give you some food," he holds up the paper bag in his hand, "but let me just tell you, that if you want Lady Sybil to even talk to you again, then you'll need to prove to her that you're sorry you were an arse." He hands Tom the bag and is about to leave when Tom calls out to him, "Why are helping me so much?"

Andrews turns around quickly and grins. "We're Irish, so naturally we're clueless when it comes to love. Just ask my wife."

* * *

AN: I just wanted to say a quick thank you to everyone who's alerted, favourited, reviewed and stuck with Star-Crossed Lovers since it started. You're all appreciated so much and I'm just really grateful to have such wonderful readers. So, for all of you, I can give you the spoiler that the infamous dinner scene will definitely be in the next chapter. Thank you all again :)


	9. April 12, 1912: III

_"Because there's nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline, no matter how many times it's sent away."_  
_Sarah Kay_

Mary barely looks up from her magazine when Sybil storms into drawing room. Instead she asks simply, "I thought you were supposed to be sick."

"I hate men," Sybil declares as she plops onto the chaise. She's spent hours on the deck, trying to forget all about Tom, but no matter how hard she tries, he always seems to pop into her head with his cocky grin and stupid accent. "They're ridiculous. I honestly don't know why they're even around."

"You'd be surprised," Mary replies, finally raising her head. "Do I need to guess who it is?"

"I don't want to talk about him."

"Obviously you do or else you wouldn't have started your tirade against men."

Sybil frowns, but she does value her sister's opinion and so she begins retelling what happened earlier as condensed as she can. She figures Mary doesn't need to know how Tom looks when he's thinking, or how her new favourite sound is her name of his tongue. When she's finished speaking, Mary looks at her unimpressed and she puts down her magazine next to her, shaking her head.

"You shouldn't have been down there, Sybil," Mary says and already, Sybil feels that maybe this was a bad idea. "Imagine if Papa found out you were there or if something bad had happened to you. Branson would be in more hot water than he is now. But honestly Sybil, did you really expect him to be happy about the situation you've put him in. He's from third-class. Can you imagine him dining with the aristocracy? He'd be a fish out of water."

"I didn't expect you to be sympathetic towards him."

Mary scoffs. "I'm not being sympathetic, I'm being realistic. You can't expect him to give up the familiarity of his class. How would you feel if you were to dine with the third-class passengers tonight?"

"I wouldn't mind."

"Oh Sybil, your heart is far too big for your body, but I'm sure Granny would have a heart attack if she saw him in his tattered suit at the table."

"Well, I don't care what clothes he wears. He could come practically naked and I wouldn't care at all!"

"Sybil!" Mary gasps, "you shouldn't be so vulgar."

Sybil realizes what she's said and she gives a chortle, bringing her hands to hide her blushing cheeks. "You know I didn't mean I that way."

"I wouldn't be surprised if you did." Mary raises a smug eyebrow and her sister's cheeks grow redder.

Flustered, Sybil asks, trying to change the conversation, "I thought Mr Andrews was supposed to show Matthew and you around the ship before dinner?"

Mary shrugs. "I thought so too but when I found them, Mr Andrews was taking Matthew to the ship's seamstress to get one of his suits fixed. He said that he'd most likely be able to take us around tomorrow night. You can come along too if you're interested," she invites but Sybil offers no reply. "Oh, please Sybil. Don't be down because of a man. Why don't you get dressed for dinner and when we get down there, I'll help you find some one more appropriate for you."

She smiles at Sybil, a genuine smile and even though her sister is trying to help, Sybil still can't help but feel despondent.

* * *

"Look there, Sybil, there's Edward Kent. He's an architect," Mary points out as they descend the Grand Staircase. From where they're positioned, she can already see Matthew and Andrews at the bottom of the staircase, and as she cranes her head, she attempts to uncover the identity of the gentlemen they are speaking too.

"I heard he was engaged," Sybil reminds her sister, but Mary simply replies, "It doesn't mean a thing until there's a ring on his finger."

Sybil holds back a laugh, shaking her head. "Really, I'm fine."

"Alright, as long as you promise not to mope tonight."

Sybil stops as they reach the landing and faces her sister with a knowing look on her face. "When have I been known to mope?" She gazes down where the men are standing, and as Matthew and Andrews realize that they are there, they smile and both motion for their acquaintance to turn his head. When he does, Sybil gasps as she finds herself locking eyes with Tom Branson.

"Oh no," Mary murmurs as she walks down the rest of the stairs to her husband, uttering to him, "Is he wearing your suit? The one you said you needed fixed?"

"I lent it to him for the night. I wouldn't worry if I were you," Matthew replies but when Mary nudges her head towards Sybil's direction, Matthew realizes that the young woman has barely moved an inch, stuck on the same stair, gazing at Tom. "Oh, maybe we should leave," he whispers back to Mary and she rolls her eyes at him, taking his arm and leading him off with a smirking Andrews close behind.

Sybil had not expected to see Tom here and nonetheless wearing a dinner suit as well. He stands at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at her with his hands behind his back and his hair combed properly that if she hadn't have known better, she would have definitely thought him a member of the aristocracy. As she slowly walks down, he never breaks eye contact with her, and the corners of his lips curl when she stops at the last step, standing a good inch taller than him.

"What are you doing here?" she says coolly, trying not to smile. She's still angry with him – yes, she is – but as his smile grows, she can feel all self-control slowly disappear.

"I was invited."

"I didn't think you'd come."

He pauses and shifts in his spot, looking down at the ground as he tries to find the right words to say, not wanting to have another argument with her. "I wanted to say sorry," he admits. "I shouldn't have said what I did and least of all, I shouldn't have said it to you. You've been nothing but kind to me and I've been an idiot."

Her lips twitch. "I wouldn't say you're an idiot." He looks up at her and she continues, a gleam in her eye, "Maybe just half of one."

He smiles softly but as she bites her lips, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion, he asks, "Is something wrong?"

"It's just," she pauses, unsure how to phrase her thoughts, "I don't understand why you're wearing the suit. I thought that it went against all your beliefs."

"It does," he answers strongly. "I believe it's the uniform of oppression."

"So why are you wearing it?"

Tom looks her in the eye and says honestly, "Because if my words weren't enough to prove to you I was sorry, then I was hoping my actions at least would."

She doesn't know to say. Here he is, a man going against his convictions for her forgiveness. She's never known anyone to care so much what she thinks and what she believes and so she steps down from the stairs, with him now standing over her, and she says to him fondly, "I wouldn't have cared what you had worn tonight. I'm just glad you're here."

"Do you mean it?" he says, tilting his head closer to hers and she smiles, nodding.

"We best go in," she says and he sticks out his arm for her to take. "They're probably waiting for us. Are you excited?"

"Truth to be told, I'm more excited for the food."

* * *

She doesn't know what to think. In fact, she doesn't know how she had expected the night to turn out. When asking Tom to dinner, she had thought that it'd be a generous gesture. After all, wouldn't her family be thankful to be seated with the young man who saved her life? However, as they sit at the table, most of them eyeing the uncomfortable young man, she realises that she may have made a mistake.

Especially with Larry Grey there.

He sits opposite Tom and she watches as they glare each other, obvious to everyone at the table. She's surprised that no one comments on it but truth be told, she can't help but glower at Larry as well.

The menu is impeccable with roast beef sirloin and poached salmon gracing the table, but Sybil notices that Tom barely touched his meal especially with all the questions directed at him.

"How is the travel in third class, Mr Branson?" the Dowager asks, to the surprise of everyone, and even though her tone is friendly, her words are not.

"It's decent enough," Tom replies, although Sybil can tell the question unnerves him.

"I can only imagine that it must be cramped," the Dowager says and Sybil watches as Tom puts down his fork, sighing as though he's restraining himself from commenting inappropriately.

"For some of the people there," Tom begins, "it's far better than what they're accustomed to." His words silence the Dowager and she eyes the young man cautiously, taking a sip from her water.

"Mr Branson," Cora addresses Tom. "I hear that you're working on the ship as a mechanic. Is that your career?"

Tom shifts in his chair, fiddling with his spoon and he replies, "I used to be a chauffeur in England and as for working on the ship, I'm doing it because Mr Andrews needed help." He keeps quiet on his money issue, thinking that he doesn't need them judging him for choices and luckily, Cora seems to accept his answer.

"In fact, Tom's a journalist," Sybil adds and immediately her father scoffs at her casual use of his first name.

"Sybil, you know better to address the man properly," the Dowager says with a breathy laugh. "You speak as if you've known him for more than a day."

"Well, I feel as though I know him better than the men I do know," Sybil replies, purposely looking at Larry with a cold stare. "But Tom is a journalist. In fact, I was thinking that maybe Grandmama might know people in New York who could use a journalist. Would you ask, Mama, when we get there?"

Robert looks at his daughter, bewildered by her apparent concern for the chauffeur. "Don't you think that's a bit inappropriate, Sybil? Asking your mother if your grandmama will help a man we hardly know?" He turns to Tom, "I'm grateful Branson for you taking care of Sybil, but I'm beginning to wonder if you're taking advantage of her kindness.

The table grows silent except for Sybil who gasps, saying quickly, "Papa, how could you -"

"It's all right, _Lady Sybil_," Tom says and she understands, knowing that he doesn't want her to fight his battle. "With all due respect, Lord Grantham, I didn't ask your daughter for anything. Maybe you should trust her instincts when it comes to people because if there's one thing I've learnt about her, it's that she's usually right."

Robert is rendered speechless, although from his widened eyes, it's obvious that the man has never had anyone telling him what to do. He growls, "You have no right telling me how to treat _my_ family."

"I suppose you're right, but it doesn't mean you shouldn't listen," Tom replies sternly, and by now Robert is fuming with smoke practically blowing from his ears. Tom stands up from his seat, avoiding Sybil's saddened gaze and he says, "I thank you all for the dinner, but I think it's best if I leave now."

"That seems best," Mary says, as her father glares at Tom. She notices, however, that Larry looks absolutely entertained.

"I'll have your suit back to you tomorrow," Tom asserts Matthew, and the man offers him a kind smile, one that seems to apologise for his family. He looks to Sybil and with a soft voice, Tom tells her, "It's been my pleasure," before he leaves.

Her mouth falls and for a second, she's unsure what to do. The finality in his voice made it sound like it's was goodbye for the rest of the voyage and she would never see him again, but she knows that can't be the case. She simply knows it.

"Sybil, what are you doing?" her father grumbles as she stands up from the table, excusing herself. She weaves through the tables, ignoring her father and mother's calls to her and as she exits the dining room, she suddenly realises she has no idea where he's gone.

She's about to leave for the decks, thinking that she might find him there, but before she goes, a hand taps at her shoulder and she spins around.

"Why did you leave?" are the first words out of her mouth as Tom stands in front of her.

"I didn't want to insult your family more than it seems I have," Tom replies and she shakes her head, distressed that he would think that.

"Oh, please don't say that. I should be the one apologizing for them. They're always like that so please don't take what they've said to heart."

Tom cracks a smile and he suddenly has a thought. "Do you want to go somewhere with me?" he asks, not sure she would appreciate the place but as her eyes light up, and she lets out a jubilant 'yes', he realises that maybe he is one lucky Irishman after all.

* * *

At first, he's a touch hesitant to bring her down to the third-class dining room, but as they take their first steps inside, she is grinning. Whilst the first class dining room was all elegance, tables adorned with crisp white cloth, candles and finely dressed waiters, the third-class is completely the opposite. The tables are so close together that half the people are sitting on them, drinks and empty plates are left discarded, men and women are dancing around to the makeshift band but above it all, everyone seems to be smiling and laughing.

"It's probably not what you're used to," Tom says, as he makes sure not to lose Sybil through the crowd by holding onto her hand.

"It's a riot down here," she exclaims over the music, but yet the grin on her face remains.

He spots his brother and Albert at a table and pulls Sybil with him so they can sit down. Immediately, he can see Kieran's face gasp at the sight of Sybil, whereas Albert beams.

"You remember my brother, Kieran," Tom says, pointing at him as she nods her head.

"How are you?" she asks Kieran, but he offers no reply, still stunned that his brother managed to convince a first-class passenger to join them.

"And this is Albert. Albert, this is Lady Sybil," Tom introduces and the old man stands up and smoothens his hair, before extending his hand to Sybil.

"Oh please, I don't mind if you call me Sybil," she says, shaking the man's hand.

"Enchante, my lady," Albert says exuberantly and Tom tries to stifle his laughter as the man kisses Sybil's hand. As they sit down and Tom manages to finally eat something, it isn't long before Albert persuades Sybil to dance with him. Tom and Kieran watch as the old man is surprisingly fit to dance to the jig and Sybil accompanies him, giggling as she sways to the music.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing, Tommy?" Kieran says cautiously, aware of how Tom is looking at her. "She is a _Lady_."

"You don't think I know that?"

"I think deep down, you're more of a romantic than you think you are."

Tom grows silent, pushing aside his empty plate. "You don't think that I could make her happy?"

Kieran groans. "Tom, listen to yourself. Do you really think she'd leave her family and all her riches to run away with a chauffeur? Once we land in New York, you'll never see her again."

He has no time to answer as Albert and Sybil return to the table, Albert exhausted from the dance.

"Tom, it's your turn to entertain this young lady," Albert says, sitting down as he fans himself.

"I don't dance," Tom chuckles but Sybil looks at him pleadingly, sticking out her bottom lip.

"Real man dance. Now go be a real man," Albert orders and finally, Tom gives in. As Sybil leads him to the dance floor, the music swaps from being a lively dance to a slower ballad and the crowd begins to couple up, dancing slowly to the tune.

They stand to the side of the crowd, unsure how to begin when finally Sybil turns towards Tom and puts one hand on his shoulder and holds out her other. He gulps as he places one hand on her waist and takes her hand and together they move slowly, even though he somehow ends up stepping on her feet.

"I'm so sorry," he says after the third time.

"Don't worry," she says, gazing up at him, "Just relax."

Soon, they find themselves lost in the music and lost in each other, that when they music does switch back to jig, they don't. They sway slowly, their bodies pressed together and their faces inches from the other. He can almost count her long, eyelashes and even though, he's a grown man, she can see the young boy in him.

She braces herself as she can feel his lips about to touch hers, but the moment never comes when suddenly, there's a tap at her shoulder and, to both their annoyance, they find Kieran standing behind them.

"Mind if I have this dance?" Kieran asks and Tom begrudgingly lets go of Sybil so that his brother may take his place.

"You seem quite fond of my brother," Kieran says and even though his hands are directly in the same place that Sybil was, she stands a good distance further away.

"He's wonderful."

"He's a good man. A bit foolish, but when he wants something he goes for it even when it may break his heart."

Sybil stops moving and looks down at the ground. She glances over at Tom who is staring at them from his seat, before she looks up at Kieran.

"I wouldn't hurt your brother," Sybil says firmly.

"You say that now but what happens when the voyage ends and you return to your world and he has to return to his?"

* * *

She's unusually quiet as they walk along the decks. She had asked him to take her up there for some fresh air, but he senses something's wrong.

"Have I done something?" Tom asks as they stop and lean against the rails.

"Oh, no, why would you think that?"

"You've barely spoken to me."

She bites her lip. "I've just been thinking. You brother cares about you a great deal."

"Did Kieran say something to you?"

She looks away from him, and he realises that his daft brother _must've_ warned her.

"He doesn't want you to get hurt," Sybil says, but Tom shakes his head.

"He's being foolish. I can take care of myself."

Sybil smiles and decides to say something that's been on her mind. "I've had the best time with you on the ship."

"Even when I was being an arrogant arse?"

"Even then," she chuckles before her face hardens. "But I don't want to hurt you. I feel foolish enough as it is that I embarrassed you in front of my family and I just wonder how things will turn out when we reach New York."

He bows his head down, and lets out a sigh. "Are you saying you don't want to spend time with me?"

"No, of course not," Sybil responds, "but maybe, we should spend less time together." She hates the words that are coming out of her mouth, and she hates herself more when he looks up at her, disappointment evident in his eyes.

"Are you honestly going to listen to what my brother has to say? Or is it your family you don't want to disappoint?" he asks, the words spilling out of his mouth.

"That's not the case, Tom, and you know it," she defends herself as he stands up straight. "You should know by now how I feel about you."

"It's starting to become obvious how you do feel now that you're telling me to stay away from you," Tom says sharply.

"Oh, you absurd man," she lets out, frustrated that he could be so stupid. Quickly, she grabs him by his jacket and with only the stars and the sea as her witness, she presses her lips onto his.

* * *

AN: Woo, so this was definitely a long time coming. Quickly, I just want to say that for those who saw the trailer I made, you can obviously tell that the dinner scene is quite different and that was because I hadn't originally planned for the Sybil/Tom incident the chapter before. And now that it happened, I really needed Tom to be sorry, and him wearing the suit was the best way for that to be shown because it shows that he does care about her. I just wanted to explain that and hopefully it all makes sense. Thank you again to everyone who comments on this story and continuously supports it! You all are stars!


	10. April 13, 1912: I

_"Life is life's greatest gift. Guard the life of another creature as you would your own because it is your own. On life's scale of values, the smallest is no less precious to the creature who owns it than the largest."_  
_Lloyd Biggle Jr._

"Sybil, you haven't stopped smiling all morning," Edith remarks as she watches her sister prepare for breakfast. "What's happened?"

"Can't I be happy?" Sybil replies, yet as hard as she tries, her lips curl and she looks away from Edith, knowing full well her cheeks have turned red.

"Does this have something to do with that Branson fellow?"

"I don't know what you're on about," Sybil says but as she looks at her herself in the mirror, she pinches her cheeks to make them appear extra rosy and she dabbles a light amount of lip rouge to her mouth.

"Well, you certainly don't dress up for Larry Grey, I know that."

Sybil shudders at the name and says, "Larry Grey is an odious excuse for a man." Once she's finish with her appearance, she turns to her sister and pouts, "Edith, will you do me a tremendous favour?"

"No."

"Edith, please," Sybil pleads and her sister simply looks at her wearily. "Can you tell the rest of the family that I won't be joining them for breakfast. Tell them I'm feeling seasick."

Edith gasps and points a finger at her sister accusingly. "I knew it. I knew it was because of that Branson. Sybil, honestly, a chauffeur?"

"It's not like that but please do this for me."

"And what if Mama decides to check on you? This wouldn't be the first time you've said you were ill. What happens when she finds your bed empty?"

"Well, then I must've taken a walk, that's what I'll tell her," Sybil says in matter-of-fact way that surprises Edith. Even though she knew Sybil was the nicest out of them, she was always taken back when her sister showed a devilish streak in her.

"You know if you were Mary, I'd say no in an instant," Edith finally says. Sybil squeals and hugs her sister tightly.

"Thank goodness, I'm not then," Sybil replies.

"You won't get into any trouble, though, will you?"

Sybil scoffs. "Of course not," she says, but the smirk on her face does little to convince Edith.

* * *

_At first, he thinks he's dreaming, but as her lips are about to leave his, he grabs hold of her body and realises that is definitely no dream. He brings her closer and his lips capture hers. _

_It's everything he ever imagined, everything he ever wished it would be. It begins with slow, chaste kisses, ones that feel like butterflies floating on every inch of his body. When he feels her dainty hands move up his chest and then cup his cheeks, he deepens the kiss. She moans as he begins to feel greedy, wanting more of her, deciding he'll be happy for the rest of his life so long as he has her, but when the sound of laughter fills the decks, he's devastated when she pulls away._

_She looks up at him with her big, beautiful eyes and he's not sure how she's feeling. If anything, she would've thought that there'd be a smile on her face, but instead he's met with a confused expression. _

"_Sybil," he breathes, fog escaping his lips and she slowly lets go of him before taking a step away. "Sybil," he says once more, desperation seeping into his voice but it's no use as she turns away and heads back inside the ship._

* * *

Tom barely sleeps a wink, constantly replaying the scene from last night in his head. He wonders what will happen now after _that_ kiss and as he travels through the decks, he catches a flash of himself in one of the hallway mirrors and realises he has a stupid grin plastered over his face.

"Get a hold of yourself, Tom," he says to himself, but try as he might, the memory of her lips and her blue eyes seem to him haunt him. The fact remains, she ran from him and as he tries to piece together what happened, he barely notices when he bumps into a figure outside of the storage room.

"I'm sorry – oh, your Lordship," Tom says as the other man straightens his jacket.

"Mr Branson," Robert replies, the obvious disapproving tone in his voice. He inspects Tom from head to toe and remarks, "I suppose you're happy to be out of Matthew's tux."

"I'm grateful that he lent it to me. He's one of the few who don't mind sharing their possessions with others."

Robert clears his throat and stands tall. His eyes grow dark as he takes a step forward and he orders, "You've grown an attachment to my daughter and I want it to end."

Tom scoffs, "I would say with all due respect, but I can see you don't deserve mine and so, _your Lordship_, my answer is no."

"I wasn't asking you a question," Robert says sternly. "I want you to stay away from her."

"She does have a name."

"I know. I gave it to her."

"Then why don't you use it?" Tom replies and he can see that he's treading on thin ice, as the expression on Robert's face is one close to rage as he realises where things are heading.

"Her name is Sybil Cora Crawley," Robert exclaims. "She was born on the last day of Autumn and her first word was 'book'. Her favourite scent is lavender and she for the last year or so, she's been wearing flowers in her hair. Mr Branson, do not assume that I do not know who my daughter is because I can assure you that I know her far well more than you do."

His words silence Tom and as he watches the younger man shift uncomfortably, Robert asserts his stance. "The fact of the matter is, my daughter does not need someone like you taking advantage of her."

"Taking advantage? Why I never-"

"That is why I am prepared to give you money to ensure that you will stay away from _Sybil_."

Tom's jaw drops and he shakes his head, "You're willing to bribe me?"

"I'll do anything to protect my daughter and if it comes to this, then so be it."

"I won't accept."

"Even if it means a way back home to Ireland?"

It's as if the Earth has stopped revolving and everything around Tom stands still, and what kills him the most is that the offer is temping. Oh god, is it tempting. He hates himself, thinking of the possibility that this could be his way back home. It would solve his problems, he admits that, but not the one of his feelings for Sybil Crawley.

In the pause that Tom takes, Robert pulls a check out of his pocket and shows it to the young man.

"This should be enough for one passage from New York and if you keep away, I'll give you another check for your brother. If my daughter is to come to you, then you break off this infatuation," Robert instructs.

"I don't want your money," Tom replies with all the disdain he can muster.

Robert folds the cheque and slips it into Tom's pockets. "You may not want it," he says as he takes a step next to Tom, "but you do_ need_ it" and with that, he leaves.

* * *

She enters into the storage room with a smile on her lips, one that grows when she sees him working on one of the cars. He notices her instantly, but shakes his head, continuing on with his work.

"Fancy seeing you here," he says loudly, "I thought I wouldn't see you again."

Sybil moves toward him and stands at his side. "What makes you think that?"

He turns to face her and brings his head down so that his face is inches away from hers. She can smell the faint smell of cologne from his collar and mint from his breath and she shivers, when he whispers into her ear, "You did run away last night," before backing away and heading to the other end of the car.

"I-I needed to think," she explains as she follows him.

"Think about what? Were you ashamed that you kissed me?" he says bluntly, refusing to meet her gaze as he leans against the car.

"Tom, please – "

"Listen, my brother told me that I was foolish and maybe, I should've – "

He doesn't have the chance to finish the sentence when her lips come crashing onto his.

When she pulls away, he's dazed and confused. "Your brother's right," she says. "You are foolish. If you would stop talking, then you'd hear what I have to say."

"Are you sure?" he questions as his face softens and the gleam returns to his eyes. "Because the more I talk, it seems the more you kiss me and I don't mind that."

She rolls her eyes but smiles, knowing that she quite enjoys that fact herself. "Well, hear what I have to say first."

He folds his arms over his chest and nods at her, ready to listen.

"I suppose, I should apologise first," she begins as she holds her hands behind her back. "I shouldn't have left you on the deck – "

"I was heartbroken," he quips.

"Oh shh, you," she replies. "I was…confused, I suppose. No, not confused. More like shocked. I _wanted_ to kiss you, Tom Branson. I just didn't expect myself too. But then it happened and it was wonderful, it truly was but I needed some time to think about things. Because I've never felt this way about anyone before and I never expected that I would, especially on this ship. But I do, and so I spent all night last night, thinking about it. About _us_."

At the last word, she notices that he stiffens as though his entire future is depending on what comes next.

"You kissed me just then," he says and she nods, stepping closer to him.

"I did," she licks her lips once more, "What do you suppose that could mean?"

"I'm not quite sure," he says, his mouth beginning to curl, "You might have to explain it more clearly to me."

She brings a hand to his cheek, taking in the touch of his skin. "It means," she says, her voice a low whisper, "that you can kiss me. I want you to kiss me."

He puts his hands slowly around her waist, steadying her as he brings her closer and he says softly, "God, it's enough that you want me too" before he kisses her, momentarily forgetting the cheque in his pants pocket.

* * *

AN: Woo, so this is well overdue. I have to admit, I don't think it's my best but hopefully I get my muse back. Apologies for any grammar mistakes and what not, it is 3am here in Oz and so I am going to a well-deserved sleep! Night (or morning) 'yall!


	11. April 13, 1912: II

_"The sea does not reward those who are too anxious, too greedy, or too impatient. One should lie empty, open, choiceless as a beach – waiting for a gift from the sea."_  
_Anne Morrow Lindbergh_

It takes him longer to work on the car, no doubt due to a young lady named Sybil Crawley.

He's still overwhelmed by the morning's events but every time he finds her grinning at him, he knows that he's completely captivated by her. To his surprise, she's inquisitive about the work, asking questions about the engines, the tools he uses and why. She stands close to him, peering over his shoulder and when he jokes that she'll get her dress dirty, she gives him a quick peck on the cheek before replying, "Are you trying to get me out of my dress, Mr Branson?"

He nearly chokes on his saliva as his cheeks turn a furious shade of red and she chortles. His mind is racing with thoughts of what she must look like, of what she must feel like under the layers of clothing.

"Are you blushing?" Sybil teases and he quickly shakes his head.

Raising an eyebrow, he says, "Are you trying to seduce me, milady?"

She sides up next to him and bats her eyelashes, "Do you want me to?" She stands on her tiptoes and just as her lips are about to brush his, they hear a cough.

"Fancy that," says Andrews as he comes towards them. "Looks like you two have _kissed _and made up."

Sybil backs away from Tom and shakes her head, although a smile is visible. "Mr Andrews, I didn't expect to see you here."

"Nor did I," Andrews pauses, "but then I did hear Lady Edith that you were sick and your poor mother was worried that you might get even worse, walking around the ship. I volunteered to keep an eye out for you."

Tom stifles a laugh as he realizes the lengths that Sybil has gone too to spend time with him. If anything, it proves to him that all this is worth it. That she is worth it.

"I am sick, though," Sybil says quickly. She gives a measly cough and Tom can't help but chortle. He stops immediately when she glares at him though.

"And I suppose you mistook the storage for the infirmary?" Andrews suggests, although it's obvious from the gleam in his eye that he's amused by the situation.

"Precisely," Sybil says. "And Mr Branson said that he would assist me to the infirmary once his shift is over."

"I see," Andrews states. "Is this right, Tom?"

Tom nods his head. "Of course. We can't have Lady Sybil getting worse, can we?"

"Well, I should let you know that your father is looking for you, Lady Sybil," Andrews says and instantly, Tom stiffens. He digs his hand into his pocket and he feels the thin slice of folded paper.

Sybil sighs and says, "Oh then…" She looks up at Tom and even though, she can tell that his mood has changed, he still gives her a small smile.

"You should go," he says softly.

Sybil turns to Andrews and he motions for the doorway. "I'll wait outside for you," he says before leaving the two alone.

"I don't want any trouble from Papa," Sybil says, raising her hand to cup Tom's cheek. "Apparently, after we left the table last night, he went silent the whole dinner. I'd much prefer him to be in rage, to be honest."

"You love your father very much."

"Of course I do," she replies. "I may not agree with him on most things, but he's my father." She picks up on the way his eyes avoid hers and she asks, "Is something wrong?"

Tom shakes his head. He places a kiss on her forehead and lifts the tip of her chin up. "You're wonderful, Sybil. You manage to see the good in everyone."

Sybil beams. "Are you sure you're fine? Maybe I need to take _you_ to the infirmary."

When he's done laughing, she gives him that long awaited kiss that Andrews interrupted. It's deeper, much longer than their other kisses and when he pulls away, she groans.

"Andrews is waiting for you," he says. "You shouldn't keep him waiting."

Sticking her bottom lip out, she replies, "Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"Never."

"Good," she smirks, "meet me later?"

He sucks his lips in, tilting his head as though his thinking and she smacks his arm. "Alright," he chuckles. "Just tell me where and when and I'll be there."

"Meet me here tonight after dinner?"

Tom nods and she gives him one last kiss before walking away. Once he's by himself, Tom pulls out the cheque and stares at it.

* * *

"Finally, my brother returns," Kieran says as Tom steps into the room. "Oh, I know that face. That's not your happy face." He watches his younger brother dig into their bags, pulling out a spare pair of pants.

"Look at you getting all dressed up again. Do I need to guess who you're going to see," Kieran says as he sits up from his bed. "So now you're ignoring me, are you?"

"I'm not ignoring you," Tom replies, sighing as he changes his clothes. "I just have a lot on my mind."

His brother groans and falls back onto the bed. "Let me guess. A certain Lady Sybil? Tom, she's a great gal, but how many times do I need to tell you. She ain't the one for you."

Tom sits down on Albert's empty bed and puts his head into his hands. He ruffles his hair and then shakes his head, before asking, "If you had a choice between love and money, what would you do?"

The question surprises Kieran and he sits back up. "Why are you asking that?"

"I just need an answer," Tom says, "Hypothetically, if you were given money to leave someone you care about, would you take it? Especially if the money could give you something that you really want?"

Kieran takes some time to think about the question before finally, he answers honestly, "Well, you wouldn't really care for them if the money was tempting you. You can't put a price on love."

"Does it make a bad person to want both?"

"It depends," Kieran says, "How much were you offered?"

Tom raises his head and eyes his brother. He's thought about telling his brother about the cheque ever since Lord Grantham left it, but now that the thought was real, he makes a decision.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Tom lies, "I was talking hypothetically."

Kieran raises an eyebrow, but folds his arms over his chest. He grunts and stands up, reaching for his jacket before he heads to the door. "Priorities change in life," Kieran pauses, "and this is purely _hypothetical_ – but lovers, they come and go. The only comfort in life is a person's sense of home. It's better to have what you need than chase after what you want."

* * *

Sybil doesn't arrive outside of the storage room until past nine, but to her surprise she finds that Tom isn't there. She enters - the door having been left unlocked - and finds herself in darkness, trying to successfully navigate her way through the objects.

"Ouch," she cries out when she bangs her knee on a piece of luggage and she kicks it with her other foot in retaliation. Serves the object right.

When she reaches the Renault that Tom has been servicing, she presses her hands on its outside until she finds the door handle and climbs in. She wonders if he's been down here already and maybe, she's just missed him. Wrapping her hands around her arms, she shivers as she realises that she was foolish for not bringing a shawl. She waits in the eerie silence and just as she's about to leave the car, the lights turn on and she raises her head, peering through the door window.

A smile graces her lips as Tom makes his way to the car, his head lowered and he crawls down in the seat so that she's no longer in his view. She can see the back of his body as he leans against the car window and slowly she props herself up and knocks on the glass. As he turns around, surprised by the sound, she sticks her tongue out and laughs as he does the same.

"I thought you I had missed you," Sybil says as Tom slides in next to her. "Dinner ran awfully late and Papa wouldn't let me out of his sight."

"Was Larry there?" Tom asks, the disdain obvious in his voice, and Sybil nods.

"Surprisingly, Papa and him talked quite a lot at dinner. I'm not quite sure what about but," she bit her lip seductively, "then again, I don't want to be talking about them."

He raises an eyebrow and before she knows it, his lips meet hers and all thoughts of Larry Grey and Lord Grantham are easily discarded. Their kisses intensify and her body warms to feeling of his as he moves on top of her. He begins a trail of kisses down her neck leading to the exposed skin atop the cleavage of her dress and to her surprise, she grumbles when he stops suddenly.

He looks up at her, his eyes riddled with unease and he leans back, pulling away from her.

"I can't," he mumbles.

Sybil shifts, pulling the sleeves of her dress back up. Her hair is hanging at her side and she looks down at the ground, embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," she says softly. "I thought I knew what I was I doing-"

Tom's head snaps in her direction and his mouth is wide open as he realises what she's trying to say. "Oh god, no! Sybil, dear, you're wonderful," he says and he gently takes hold of her chin and moves her head so that she's facing him.

Sybil nods when Tom lets go of her and she watches as he sinks into his seat.

"I just – I just," he stops and runs his hand through his hair. "What does this mean to you?"

She tilts her head, but still, he can tell that she doesn't understand so he tries again.

"When the ship docks in New York, what will happen to _us_?"

Sybil grows silent and sits back in her seat, tapping her fingers on her thigh. She's thought about this - really she has - but every time the question arose, she would always disregard it. The truth of the matter was that when the ship docked, he would find a way back to Ireland. It saddened her, but she knew that asking him to stay in New York for her – a woman he only met three days ago – was ridiculous.

"I like what we have," she says. "I've never felt this way about anyone before."

Tom takes her hands into his and he places a kiss on them before rubbing his thumbs over her knuckles. "I'm the same," he says, offering her a smile. "I was wondering if you would bet on me."

Her lips curl and she asks, "What does that mean?"

"It means that we have four days left on this ship and things for us, they're grand. They really are. We spend the rest of our days here getting to know each other and then the night before the ship docks, we make a decision," Tom answers. He cups her face with his hand and she closes her eyes as she takes in the softness of his skin.

"Four days isn't that long," Sybil whispers.

"It's all we have to figure out if you'd spend a lifetime with me."

Sybil smirks and opens her eyes. "You're so sure of things, aren't you?"

Tom nods. He sticks his hand out and she eyes him curiously. "My name's Tom Branson," he says.

She takes his hand and shakes it bountifully, moving her head along as well. "I'm Sybil Crawley."

"Can I tell you something, Sybil?"

"I actually prefer being called _Lady_ Sybil but I suppose I can make an exception for you," she banters and he scoots closer, pressing his forehead against hers. She whispers, "I suppose you can tell whatever it is you wish to say."

Tom's blue eyes look into hers and he says with the utmost certainty in his voice, "I think you're absolutely beautiful."

* * *

A/N: Hopefully you guys are still enjoying! Sorry for any mistakes. If you guys have any questions, feel free to ask :)


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